Thin

Winter in a packed-to-the-brim house-

black beans and cornbread as supper

  for the fourth night in a row.

The cold is rough for the poor people.

A hand-me-down sweater barely keeps me warm

  and heat is "TOO GODDAMN EXPENSIVE".

Three kids, ages six to thirteen, all go to bed.

  8 on the dot.

With skimpy school luches

and unfulfilling dinners

and tiny paychecks

being the only sight ahead for months.

This poem is about: 
My family

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