2100
puncturing glass cases
with the back of a plastic spoon
the injustice toward
the powder blue box
on the corner of
57th and a sliver studded moon
extending the divide
between wealth and
everyone else
back around the way
the number 3 bus
had a stop
just outside
the old shabby
half shingled house
that was called
home
its passengers enjoyed
rubbernecking and mocking
the second hand
charlie brown
size 13 shoes
worn by the size 13 girl
sitting on the
second stair stoop
when she was just 13
no one heard
her scream
no one saw
her run
and hide in shame
under the rough wool
of poverty
that had never
comforted
or warmed her
her playgrounds were
broken street lights
and sidewalk puddles
of not enough
no one ever realized
they were watching
an apparition
that woke each day
dismayed
to see
it was
still
body and bones
forced to swim through
a murky haze of failure
to then try
and try again
just remember
that
two plus two
equals four
a deliberate slice of
distraction for the
blindfolded poor
follow that focus
down the conveyer
belt you go
clock in
clock out
only one percent
know the truth
two plus two
equals anything
you want it two
the rest left to be content
with an off season
stone crab
served up on a paper plate
lets stare
into the bone china
at what they have done
to convince us
that we were never enough
the pill box man beholds
with undesired eyes
just there
waiting
sell them lies
they will come
unmanicured nails
scratching against skin
now leaving white lines and
resistance
and they wonder why
hope has walked away
