Practical Poverty Poem by Trevor McLeod

As poverty got worse
I thought about leaving
Not far;
but weaving.

Somewhere
I could forget my problems
A vacation;
a grieving.

A place
where I could enjoy the sun
A place that far.

Where liquor was plenty
and drugs dependent

And I could see the teeth;
the smiling back at me;
the people's glee

Where I was
What I was doing
The people cared
actually.

I let them
I missed them
I wanted them
I craved them

I went
I saw
and enjoyed
and came back

I was home
I was happy
and I missed them
Strangers: not poor
practically