This Poem Is Just A Report About What Happened Here A Night Ago
it is raining, and they are all wet, the baby is crying hard
looking for milk and warmth, and she lets them in at the backdoor near
the kitchen, and i am on the second floor merely watching them
in a hurry, loud words, blames, and cautions, the master may get
angry at this unholy hour of the night,
warm coffee and some left-over bread, bare hands they like it,
chicken soup, and milk for the baby, and warm rags,
i am watching them all from the second floor of this house
just being this spectator, of a certan phenomenon, this poverty
this unequal distribution of wealth, this inability of the state to provide
education for its people, this unfairness of this universe,