belly blues…my Thanksgiving poem…

bellies hurt…

starved…punched…kicked…externally…internally…lining only takes so much…the soul…the soul…

hunger makes it growl…

those on corners…in factories for meager pay…migrant work…nigger-work…those that want an’ll never get…never…

these bellies hurt…

alone in lines among hundreds at Apostle’s for bread to be broken… these things we give thanks…

it’s not a lack of food…nor drink making moans in Manhattan’s midst…
tis melancholy…belly blues from being batted ’round…never ‘nough sleep…never ‘nough money…never ‘nough…never ‘nough…

blacks…PR’s…white guys with stringy blonde locks…whores soaked from November’s rains…

beat-up busboys…beaten broads…guys who once had a shot…

junkies…drunks…hiphopheroes..homeboys from the Bronx…wandering Jews…rednecks an’ Rasputins…

nothing conjured…no-one let’s their guard down…
those bellies are hungry…

feed ’em…

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