scraping & pitching
deceased presidents
I watch as coins fluttering
on those old concerete floors
playing classic street games
prominent for hustlas,
wine heads
and
starved kids who seek change
living a cup half full
yet inside we seek change
we strain to arrange
2 meals a day
praise the lord
hopping for better days,
where heat for my fam
1 bed aprt.
don't come from a stove ablaze
we bundle up
in our worn covers accepting
reality of being another statistic
fed with the wooden spoon of poverty.
