The Little Boy

Dirty and scruffy,

He looks anything,
But a scare-crow.

In his oversized tattered rags,

To his starved wiry frame, 
Hanging

The pungent stench
Of a rubbish heap,

Off he gives.

Clad in designer suits,

Hippopotamus-looking,
Double-chin men

Walk past,
Unbothered,

To some important meeting,
Off they rush,

To discuss matters of state,

How to clear the streets of 'vermin'.

Women,
Fat like the lazy cows of Bashan,

About to fall off their stilettos,
Walk past.

Away from the boy's empty gaze,
They look,

Empty hands,
Out to them stretched,
They ignore,

Off they rush,

Lest they be late
For praise and worship.

(c) P.Chidavaenzi, 2010