poverty.
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Each day-
there's birdsong
( which is nice)
and with time
I've grown used to
the grunting of hogs
as they slurp their slop,
stinking and abuzz
with swarming flies.
Here I stand with a poster board in hand.
I look at you as you try to avoid me.
In your A/C, as you turn the radio up.
I'm struggling.
I am dying on my knees, when I want to stand on my feet.