Years of childhood in Balut* yards
with mother and father in a poor home
I remember my hunger when with my friends
we baked breads out of muddy clay.
Baking the breads, we played away hunger
the closest and worst of our unwanted guests
so passed the summer with heat in the gutters
then winter came on with freezes and snow.
Outside is grayness sunken in snow
the wine glass the walls are silvered and white
I lie on a bed all wrapped up in rags
and look thru the windows all covered with ice.
Father leaves early to ask for work
With mother, in darkness of home I stay
It’s cold, we’re hungry, nothing to eat
How I lust to bake a small bread loaf of clay…
*Balut was a suburb of Lodge
