There she walks – the four year old,
with her mouth half-open,
celadon green eyes, lank blond hair;
it hangs like threadbare curtains
around a sagging window frame.
She has no stomach, weak wrists, and
The skeletal figure at her side wrings her hands.
She has not eaten at all today;
Emergency Food Stamps can no longer be had.
They laid everyone off at the plant, she explains;
Ashamed–she bursts into tears. The stocky
social worker looks at her in disdain.
The child never cries or complains.
One in seven families
will go hungry today.
They cannot help each other
as they slowly shrink away.
Shaking her head in irritation
she opens her bulging purse
and assuages her mind with a hefty donation
to “The Wax The Mayor’s Floors Charity Foundation.”