Tin City

 

 

            Ragged plastic bags

Of men,

     Corrugated steel in

Makeshift den.

     Bellies begging bring

Me meat to chew,

For I haven’t eaten

For a week or two.

 

     ‘We’, are eating

Sunday lunch,

Already bursting

From a blow up brunch.

No time to let and

Digest mass,

While their skinny selves

Have had no faeces pass.

 

     Why on Earth,

Why indeed,

Do we sweat so much,

While their stomachs bleed?

 

 

Dedicated to all those who seem to think

That they have not sweated enough,

So much so, they have to strike.