Bullet holes riddle the exterior shell of a house they would never dare to call a home. The smell of pork and beans left soiling a pan from dinner three days before. Only words spoken by a mother in passing comes from a screaming voice. The scent of burnt copper travels from the space left in the bedroom door where it will no longer close as she repeatedly goes to hide. Diapers changed by a kid in diapers, though he's way to old he's yet to be trained... as has the dog in the back yard on a two foot chain. Strangers come through but never say there name, buckling there belt as they leave as quickly as they came. They still don't understand why dad died with his belt around his arm. The empty can of beans from the other day now doubles as a drinking cup. Dirt around their mouths playing in ashes and cigarette butts. Just another day in the ghetto..... -LIV
Well done. Written well. So very true to realize that there are people living like that right in your own backyard and nobody really knows or chooses to ignore. The poverty level in our own United States is staggering. We need to take care of our own instead of looking elsewhere.
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