Poems/ Lost Children
Lost Children
You see them on the streets of every city,
they shine your shoes, or try to sell you beads,
they barter woven goods or dirty pictures,
and pick your pocket if they have the chance.
They sell their bodies to anyone who pays,
or do the work that no one else will do,
trade all they have to get a piece of pizza,
survive in packs or travel all alone,
they sleep in tunnels or in empty boxes,
find pleasure shooting up or sniffing glue.
They carry no address or treasured pictures,
no letters that remind them they were loved,
for them no baths, clean clothes, or cherished playthings,
no shelter from ones who’ll do them wrong.
For them, no tickets to a better passage,
no happy endings when the engine stops;
for them the journeys end in their beginnings;
for them, there is no train at all.
From All Roads Go Where They Will (Antrim House, 2010)
You see them on the streets of every city,
they shine your shoes, or try to sell you beads,
they barter woven goods or dirty pictures,
and pick your pocket if they have the chance.
They sell their bodies to anyone who pays,
or do the work that no one else will do,
trade all they have to get a piece of pizza,
survive in packs or travel all alone,
they sleep in tunnels or in empty boxes,
find pleasure shooting up or sniffing glue.
They carry no address or treasured pictures,
no letters that remind them they were loved,
for them no baths, clean clothes, or cherished playthings,
no shelter from ones who’ll do them wrong.
For them, no tickets to a better passage,
no happy endings when the engine stops;
for them the journeys end in their beginnings;
for them, there is no train at all.
From All Roads Go Where They Will (Antrim House, 2010)
