'momma, i'm hungry! '
'i cant find you. where are you? '
'momma! please! momma! '
old car packed up high,
mattress tied down on the roof...
windows bare, empty.
the stink of whiskey,
tired-eyed, angry, hard despair,
paint peels off the dream
potatoes, old bread,
last pot of coffee, brewed strong,
nothing on the shelf!
hand on the pistol,
too damn tired to be afraid...
no other option!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem