Photo: Jacob Riis
Their Unfortunate Crime
Those people there,
not we not us not me they
are the problem See them
leaning on that wall
Sitting cross-legged in the dirt
that collects like unpanned gold
beneath their nails
The rusted old cars in their
sere yards choked with weeds
The flies the mud the guarded
bloodshot eyes of their
sweating bloated babies
Lord We should adopt them all
what kind of parents would
soldiers could kids delirious
in hooded jackets pants down
to there Thank God
they are not here we are not
there not them they are
not us and that
in our westernized opinion
is their most unfortunate crime
(c) 2017, by Hannah Six
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