deepundergroundpoetry.com

Coming Home

Dirt slaps eyes[/font][/font]
the air sizzles[/font][/font]
impossible makeshift houses[/font][/font]
lean and creak in the wind[/font][/font]
Children lay hands [/font][/font]
over swollen bellies[/font][/font]
all with the same listless stare[/font][/font]
some even smile[/font][/font]
mercilessly unraveling your heart[/font][/font]
their bones scream for flesh[/font][/font]
as death dabs his eau de cologne[/font][/font]
without a word[/font][/font]

The strongest [/font][/font]
cling to the choke of your footsteps[/font][/font]
examining your spoor in the dust[/font][/font]
with the hope you may bring something[/font][/font]
anything[/font][/font]
even a worn out rag[/font][/font]
would be riches to fight for[/font][/font]
but you know you have nothing more[/font][/font]
and they cannot feed on hope[/font][/font]
or a cliche handful of rice forever[/font][/font]

Now coming home [/font][/font]
has another meaning[/font][/font]
turning the key to a different world[/font][/font]
where suddenly you feel dirtier [/font][/font]
than the flies[/font][/font]
and every time you turn a tap[/font][/font]
or switch on a light[/font][/font]
there they are--[/font][/font]
feasting on guilt[/font][/font]
in a corner of your yard [/font][/font]