is bare <br />nothing to cook <br />no LPG to keep the flame burning <br />with a cold and hungry look <br />children huddle there <br /> <br />Lizzie stops at the food stores <br />on one street <br />to buy <br />on credit <br />something to feed them <br /> <br />But storekeepers are blind <br />to her, are deaf <br />to her pleas, unconvinced <br />by her promises to repay. <br />They seem to forget the children <br />she speaks of are <br />not her own, <br />but other peoples’ children, <br />abandoned, <br />and wandering the streets. <br /> <br />but Lizzie will not give up <br />dismay on her face <br />she turns away <br />heading for the next street <br />hoping she will not meet <br />there <br />the same fate <br />to touch the right chords <br />and return home with something <br />for them to eat <br />this time <br />she begins a new refrain <br /> <br />who among you will watch <br />your children go to bed hungry <br />if you rich folks cannot and will not <br />then why should poor me be different<br /><br />Sandra Martyres<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lizzie-s-kitchen/
