Poverty

Poverty

The abandoned wreck lay in the street.

We climbed and jumped; so much to do that week.

A mattress appeared and now our feats grew.

Then one day no more; someone took it away.

Another week, a sewer formed a lake

from which sprung exotic adventures and competitions.

I played a pirate with my wooden sword, my buddy slayed the savage sea beast.

Then one day no more; someone took it away.

Nostalgic, I look back on those days. I was not poor; I enjoyed the endless array

Of things abandoned, trees to climb, hidden corners, and the paradise of neglected yards.

When summer lasted years, and the fun was measured by my socks and

how far they peeked from the holes in the bottoms of my shoes.

On rainy days from the past to today,

I can almost feel my soggy socks

and like an echo in my heart,

hear my mother calling me to come from play.

— Josef

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