young little men,
whose moustaches struggle
to display maturity
of responsibility
whilst all the time belying
the frailty of hope
hidden in their eyes.
these children play with death
everyday.
every other night.
by throwing caution to the winds
and fear to their weekly pay.
and when payday arrives,
they hand over crumpled notes
to their weary mothers
and save some to drown their sorrows
just like their fathers did
a score or two years ago.
disparity is stark. it's everywhere. young boys of 18 or so need to work to keep hearths burning.they toil, play with dangerous stuff in factories and give up their own dreams. before long, they are lost.
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