6:00 a.m. Foggy morning
Breath of a four year old,
Reaches my ears.

HARF! HARF! He goes.
The cold wave gripping him tight,
I sit cozy in four layers of warmth
He runs nude on the main street,
Holding his priceless possessions-
Two pieces of dried bread, hard as stone.

I stare and wonder,
What’s fair?
Does anyone care?
Everyone here is a millionaire.
She cuts into her birthday cake,
Crowds cheer. Millions spent.
In a nation,
Where souls cry and die,
Hungry and Bare.