Poverty strikes privileged strings

at young age, in-between patters of sandals running

down unpaved roads of bustling markets.

The girls and boys live nearby Mother says,

together in one room.

Each day a new shift, to serve needs ready and going –

Big Mother’s house so big it swallows whole

the have and have nots.

An illness strikes a chord:

The have nots now without nothing

And nothing without have nots.

I want to buy a basket for each boy and each girl,

Filled with stuffed animals, bread,

and pink paper money.

For each Mother, and each Big Mother;

please, take this rich child’s allowance

for makings of a misplaced care package.