for real

give me the money oh
give me the money i
need it to buy my daily
bread and i have
no-one who can help
except the hoard you
hold in your establishment's
coffers - i have
cap in hand, i tremble,
i fear, i hate you for
making me be so
inferior and your
quizzical glances and
hardened hearts have me
in mortal terror of
poverty, no roof and
food that many
people unluckier than me
have to stave-off for
real day after day
Collected Works
Return to Collections all
next poem