On the Other Side of the Tracks
The weight of her soul fills her stomach like a sack of rocks;
bills to pay, mouths to feed, prayers to say.
She cracks a bottle, there, on the other side of the tracks
where cat piss
and dog-eared pages of the Old Testament smell the same.
The Seven O’ Five rattles the windows in their frames;
time for smoke, time for drink, time for dope.
The child cries; once for the chill,
and twice for her mama
who abandons her in a flash overdose.