Hunger rides a crippled horse
poverty is a car without wheels
in a wretched house, no wolf is at the door
but a whole pack lives on the second floor
broken windows; empty dreams
screams and sirens stalk the streets
down the way a broken playground
on rusty children’s equipment skeletons play
there’s not enough take home pay or whiskey
to relieve the dismay, pain or suffering
Popeye chicken bones , like bread crumbs
lead dead men back to hollow homes
mannikin-like ghosts crowd the night
and, every single, living person feels alone
it hurts all the way down to the marrow
buried deep inside the broken bone
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