Homer

My home

A child’s hand-me-down

three times over

Broken, rusted, 10 years old

sits in piles

of trash and torn earth

Forgotten and Abandoned

My home

A Camel

dangling

daintily

From a curved lip

in a seamed face

My home

Is cheap beer

drank from sweating cans

in the sweat soaked hands

of cheaper women

My home

is a mutt barking

Its chain biting

the tender flesh

Of its choked neck

My home

is red faced men

With too little work

and too much time

Their hands

Bloody and bruised

from bar fights

and bedroom brawls

Their children’s faces

dirty and poor

dreaming of escape

destined to stay

 

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