Reflections

Small, delicate fingers,

Foreigners to these barren lands,

Scurries thoroughly, rummages, and pillages,

These villages of,

Metal scraps: her mirror,

She hides behind her reflections…

You see those dirty diapers: her head rests upon?

Used cotton substitutes,

Is where her head hangs down.

Her pillow of comfort under the dark starry night.

Punctured tires: her only friends,

There they roll…

See those race cars down our street?

She can never beat them.

Smoke inhalation from the gas fumes,

Incubates the small part of her living room of a….

Cardboard box keeps her separate…

From you,

She yearns for compassion,

As her….

Small, delicate fingers,

Foreigners to these barren lands,

Scurries thoroughly, rummages, and pillages,

These villages of,

Metal scraps: her mirror,

She hides behind our reflections…