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they wanted food for their bellies and hope for their futures...they got neither

they wanted food for their bellies and hope for their futures…they got neither

i wanted to make an omelet, denver,
with colors that would make morning weep
like breakfast kicking from inside
the belly of an impoverished child

green and red peppers
alternating stop and go on a busy boulevard
or roses with plush leaves
watered by tears and let dry by memories
of parched land and dusty dirt roads

poetry doesn’t matter much anymore
when words don’t save a thirsty child
and graves are dug to appease the living
while the heart of man is darkened
and colors are left to bleed
like cloth from madras

ethiopia is hungry, somalia thirsty
india feeds and weeps
while the rains fall and hold buckets of hope
within the grasp of children who die
waiting
wishing for an egg more scrambled
than those cracked in denver