It's a junk yard
in their front yard
full of dirt piles and rusty tools.
Like white bread
toasted,
the neighborhood
thinks their fools
but are they living
better than us?
Spitting off the front porch
peanut butter jelly hands.
He wipes his fingers
on his chest
than licks the rest off
with his tongue
and it's hard to understand
when the heat kicks in
we ask if God's got a plan
but maybe they're living
better than the rest of us?
Still,
I guess if we question
that may be the lesson
that flat tires
on a bicycle
gets us farther than
we'd ever learn.
While they yell riding,
flashing us
they laugh so much
they're almost crying
and we die with the ache
before there ever gone
And maybe,
they have it right
they just go on
living their lives
better then we ever could
for ourselves.
Down the street,
on the corner,
grandma smokes her
pack a day,
beer in hand
the he's just a child
turned 12 years old today
as he takes a swig
I turn away.