She walks a half-hour
To the well,
Waiting her turn to
Lower a stained
Plastic bucket down
A hole to the
The brackish water
That will be in
That night’s soup.
She heads back,
Tilting to one side,
Looking down at
The garbage-strewn
Pathway, a dog
Scampering away.
Feel Great by Supporting This Website
Don't Miss My Fabulous Poetry Book
Thank you to all the amazing poetry fans worldwide who have bought my book.