Old Road Same Woes

The road no longer traveled
is filled with broken glass and scattered trash,
tipped garbage cans and madness.

Thousands of miles away
yet I pray
for the children tearing
while revealing their need for love.

Love is tripped by the quick,
and speedy delivery of a check.
So monthly alittle something
heals a wound or heavy heart.

Love is trickling ice cream
on a dirty faces where tears use to be.
Each hug is a crumpled burger bag
crushed to the chest of happy feet.

That increase by miles and minutes
during a cab ride, at meal time
down a cracked and winding road.

To a store where many more
grab what they can.
Some food that never hits a skillet or a pan.

Children run wild as parents scream,
"I'll put that shit back, if you don't behave.
I do this for you and only you.
Now pick up that damn burger bag".

This is so sad, steaks for him and lobster for her
while the child gets more generic food,
and some sick generic love.

On a road I no longer travel
still filled with broken glass and scattered trash.
Broken dreams and not much else.

Happy feet is still a crumpled burger bag,
and ice cream trickling down a childs dirty face.
Straving for love and not a shove.