Saturday, July 18, 2015

Dirt Poor

Growing up in a camp for
coal miners, I remember 
learning what it means to be

dirt poor—having no proper
flooring in your house, only
the bare ground: maybe four walls, 

some semblance of a ceiling
overhead to shield you from
yonder elements outside.

Not that I had to worry
about such things, ever, but
I had a friend who lived thus.

He paid no mind to his state 
of housing, preoccupied 
getting one good meal a day

either from school, or neighbor.
No running water, he washed
himself hardly at all, so

none but I and one other
would get close enough to sit
next to him in the lunchroom.

He told such funny stories, 
when I smell need for a bath, 
I clear see his comic smile.

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