These are things we do not
   Speak of,
A class of violence that breeds
    A certain endurable suffering.....

  It is in the curious nature
Of survival
Which caresses the poor
And listens only to the nocturnal
Whispers of savages,
   Crude and tameable
It is accepted outside of the unacceptable,
     Where the deep concerns
For low income pass through
The eye of a needle and they
Can shout from a safe distance
With charitable murmurs
Enthusiastically hoping one
Makes it out of the ghetto.

     Home is where the heart is,
A heart of the unacceptable
With victims below middle class,
     Chronic renewal of violence,
Another ethnic man with darkness
On skin is dead,
The eloquent news states,
The futile concerns from outside
Keeping the animals in place.
   The permissible violence
Is lamented in segments and tidbits,
    It is good only that the poor
Might stay out of the unacceptable.