Her arms semaphore fat triangles,
Pudgy hands bunched on layered
Where bones idle under years of
And lima beans.
Her jowls shiver in
Of crimes clichéd
Repetition.
Her children,
To childhood's toys,
Best the games of darkened doorways,
Rooftop tag, and know the slick feel
Other people's property.
Too fat to whore,
Too mad to work,
Searches her dreams for
Lucky sign and walks
Into a den of bureaucrats
Her portion.'They don't give me welfare.
I take it.'
