tiny little thing
hunched over in the dust
picking out the shit
between her toes

garbage strewn at her side
dirt caked to a place
where a smile once lived
now replaced with

oh my god what is that?

i notice two clear paths of definition
clean through the filth
mocking her young being
tears of insanity i think

holding out a cookie
chocolate chip from a Mrs. Fields
warm, gooey, hopeful
take it I plea

she keeps picking at her toes

what a bath wouldn't do I think
the kind with bubbles
a tiny yellow duck
in a warm tub filled by a hand bigger than hers

i drop the cookie to the ground
walk over the hill to a place
where we think she just may be missed

oh my god what is that?

and two clear paths of distinction
begin to mock my chocolate chip cookie

trailers, small ones - the kind where hope
gets murdered hour after hour

I forget my former thought about the bubbles
the fucking duck
and think
where have all the caring people gone?

Texas, Utah, Idaho I think
where the cookies aren't stained
the ducks are still yellow
and the only crowded place
is a little girls full tummy

what in God's name
have we done?

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