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GHETTO LIFE
A woman cries in the doorway,
her shallow eyes
reach for the happiness once there.
A room, furnished with a bed,
table, two chairs - her home -
complete with child and lover.
The warped table wobbles
from the time Frank kicked it
in anger;
Faded sheets, crumpled on the matress,
in neglect,
cry out for the union of lovers.
Their baby, now hers,
whimpers in a trtful sleep,
her tiny black fists punching -
fighting with imaginery intruders.
The woman dries her eyes,
picking up the child,
Together, they rock, and they stare -
waiting for the happiness to return.
Kel~ s. Connor
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