Well-off people,
With no salt in their coats
And no dirt
Pulls their eyes to the paper.

Where trees and darkness mingle,
The Lord forgot His things
In a cave.
Passers-by come
To enjoy life and go
But poor people
With crutches
And dirty National Health glasses
Are waiting for death
That is always late.

What shall we swap to have fun
As everybody is afraid to come near.
Is contagious
And the blind
Are full of thoughts.

Well-off people
With dreams
Weave vast days
To suit intricate road systems
And take in horn blasts
That anger nobody.
At night
They turn their dreams to wings,
Glasses of wine
And stories.

A silent child
Knows all
To save the city from child mothers,
Retarded in growth,
With erased memories
And chairs for the disabled.
Mothers who read much
Cannot cook
Or watch TV
A smart child
Would send them into exile
As they constantly drop off
Before completing a line.

Well-to-do passers-by,
fearing infection,
have multiple eyes
and their feet
find new meanings
for parallel, crossing and perpendicular lines.
Accustomed to shoes,
Are more at ease with unshod feet
They do not forgive people with crutches
Who ruin the pavement,
And abort crickets
That prepare themselves for motherhood.

The side-walks are ready to rise
And I
Try to unscrew the nuts
On my foot.