Did you see photos in sixty-eight
Of children with their hair becoming rust:
Sickly patches nestled on those small heads.
Then falling off,like rotten leaves on dust?
Imagine children with arms like toothpicks.
With footballs for bellies and skin stretched thin.
It was kwashiorkor- difficult word.
A word that was not quite ugly enough, a sin.
You needn’t imagine. There were photos
Displayed in gloss filled pages of your Life.
Did you see? Did you feel sorry briefly,
Then turn around to hold your lover or wife?
Their skin had turned the tawny of weak tea
And showed cobwebs of vein and brittle bone:
Naked children laughing, as if the man
Would not take photos and then leave, alone.