This Poem Is Just A Report About What Happened Here A Night Ago Poem by RIC BASTASA

and so this young man from the mountain arrives on an unholy hour of the night knocking at the door asking for the name of his sister, a housemaid of the family,

he brings his eighteen year-old wife carrying a bundle of old clothes, and a baby still on its third month,

it is raining, and they are all wet, the baby is crying hard
looking for milk and warmth, and she lets them in at the backdoor near
the kitchen, and i am on the second floor merely watching them
in a hurry, loud words, blames, and cautions, the master may get
angry at this unholy hour of the night,
warm coffee and some left-over bread, bare hands they like it,
chicken soup, and milk for the baby, and warm rags,
i am watching them all from the second floor of this house
just being this spectator, of a certan phenomenon, this poverty
this unequal distribution of wealth, this inability of the state to provide
education for its people, this unfairness of this universe,

the lights in her room is finally turned off, the baby's cry dissolves in darkness. I do not think that the young malnourished couple still have sex
in the middle of this heavy rain, so cold, so unholy, so unjust.