I don't have much money
And my clothes are old and worn.
My book bag was my sister's.
These "kicks" are used and torn.
I live on thirteenth avenue,
But proud I am of that.
My dad is gone, but mom works hard.
She lets me keep my cat.
The kids at school are mean to me,
Just because I'm poor.
Whatever makes the difference?
I try hard and I do more!
So, I've decided just to stop
Pretending I don't care,
And next time someone's mean to me
I'll have some words to share.
"Just walk a mile in my shoes...
I'm not different from you!
You just got lucky; caught some breaks,
And now here's what I'll do.
I'll make some pie from apples
Mom picks up from clean waste.
I'll share some of the best food
You'd ever want to taste.
Then tell me that I'm different.
I'm luckier than you!
You guys come home with me sometime.
We'll share what all we do!
My cat,'Newman', loves new friends
Mom will fix you dinner.
And trust me, once you see my truth,
You'll see me as a winner."
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| Writing Prompt |
Write a poem for a child. |
Author Notes
About half of my Daddy's family lived either in inner city, or in the old coal towns. We always sent part of the check to them every-other month. I remember feeling guilty we had a car and that we had enough to help. The produce market always had a couple of boxes called "clean waste" that everyone was free to take.
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