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.