Their Story. Poem by poppy miller

THEIR STORY

They spring up like mushrooms
From the hole that shares no warmth.
The hour of darkness has descended
And the show begins after the sun has
Been gobbled by the smog.
Dirty feet, scarred faces,
and darting eyes
In stinking rags.
Always on the lookout.

I watch with an ache in my gut,
As one, no older than 10,
With the shifty eyes,
(Who will never wear Armani)
pulls out a cigarette. Grins,
then strikes a light,
Imitating his favourite movie star.
He's Leonardo DiCaprio.
He's Brad Pitt.
He's the leader of the gang.
The gang with bulging eyes,
All gagging for a drag.

Invisible children,
Who sleep in stinking waste;
Fallen through the cracks,
Neglected by society.
They don't smell the stench
From the tips where they
Collect their plastic bottles
Or see the condescending
Looks from passersby
Whose pockets they pick
For want of food.

They all had a home once
And for a pittance, they'll
Sell you their stories of
Rape, torture, drugs and
Starvation.
Their future is always -
The next meal.

©

30/1/2016