A low grumbling noise,
Awakens the poor child,
Afraid he clutches his rags,
Alone he whimpers softly,
Trying not to wake up his dad.
Abu wasn't nice, he smelled,
And Ammi called him d-r-u-n-k.
The growling grew near,
It haunted him every night.
It kept a distance,
Yet still made him shiver from fright.
Two bright suns, the eyes of a demon,
Race past him, parting the puddles,
S-p-l-a-s-h
No longer dry, he stares blankly into the dark,
Sobs and crawls back under the plastic sheet,
Crawls back into his home.
Next to his house,
Is a glitzy place.
He has seen the Gods visit the place.
Not the ones Ammi took him to meet,
But the ones who had bones and flesh.
At times they threw nibbled ambrosia at him,
He was too hungry to comprehend the word leftovers.
Yet on his final night there was no food,
There was no omen.
No comet marked the death of those forsaken by their stars.
Two eyes blinded him,
The rest broke his petite form.
A God steps out, leans over his broken form, spits,
And cleans the filth, his blood off the hood.
An elder man looms over his broken form,
His eyes displaying a nonchalant sadness.
The God turns to his slave,
"Bansilal, you were driving the car."
And then to perhaps, himself,
"****** beggars, don't they have anyplace else to live?"