Near the dumpster,
The crows are the masters,
Cawing as the sequencers,
Chasing one another,
As the rowdy bouncers,
Circling around the barriers,
Looking for the leftovers,
Commotion is everywhere,
Confusion is the hardware,
Peace they not aware,
Traits of every poor,
To dine with no war,
Of words seldom seen,
In these abode,
The mothers boil,
The fathers kindle,
The children suffer,
The crows caw aloud.
Near the dumpster,
Silent diners are here,
But they coexist,
and are unaware,
in the other world.
veeraiyah subbulakshmi
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/why-do-poor-people-shout/