The child,
Siting hunched in the corner,
Cold and hungry,
Watches the heaving bodies on the make-shift bed.
Although he sees this act
At least twice a day
Sex has no meaning to him,
- It's just mummy making money!
Maybe this time -
She'll have enough money left to feed him.
Maybe this time!
Suddenly he wakes
From a cold-induced sleep
To find a loaf of bread on the floor.
Gorging himself greedily
Something shiny catches his eye
From his mother's bed.
Just for a second he sees the needle
Before it plunges home.
He smiles
Relief fills his emaciated form,
No beatings tonight he thinks.
jayne jenkins
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/everyday-existance/
