The world cries
For the mother, who works
And works,
And had dreams
That did not involve
Cement walls,
Cement floors,
Cement ceilings,
Torn muscles,
And numbness in
Her hands.

Those beautiful,
Calloused hands.

There's a guy out there
With no home
Or family to claim,
But he'll rob her
For all she's worth
If it means to damper
The hunger and
Shakes.

He knows a "doctor"
That'll take care of him
So long as his palm's greased
And the supply is good.
Sure, it's not love,
But after his dose
It won't matter.

The guy would mourn
If he died;
Not for him, but for
The loss in demand.
Hard to make a buck
Around here, nowadays.
Guess you have to do
What you can to
Survive.