sometimes I wish they'd break things
delicate glass windows in old buildings
something that makes a sound
–any sound–

or smoke frantically and fuck up their lungs
from early on

at least the invincibility juvenile
misbehavior often provides
would shelter them for longer

(when hunger hits like a blade
to their spines, their violence is mute
like their hunger itself

people often call them cancer kids
multiplying from god-knows-where
just swarming around in clusters
until something breaks

every face is going to be new,
every set of desperate eyes
(looking up and begging)

even if for every pair of bare feet on stinging-hot asphalt
two more are born and disposed of

even if every smoke-faced girl
might be an unborn daughter of mine

sometimes I think they can see
when I watch them walk away

sometimes I think they can see
when I'm begging too

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