They seemed so poor, in squalid shacks,

with refuse piled beside the door.

Peeling paint and rusty tin

and then I heard them laugh!

 

They seemed so poor, no shoes at all.

Flies gathered on a snotty child.

Dust billowed from a passing bus

and then I saw a toothy grin.

 

They seemed so poor, in shabby clothes,

a few possessions in a bag.

No gaudy lips or flashy gems

and then I saw them holding hands.

 

And me, with all my ‘basic needs,’

enough to fill a huge suit case,

was heaping pity on these folk?

How poor they made me feel.

 

 

David Garlick, Victoria, April 1991