How Poor Were We?
Author: Bill Roberts
So poor the mice scampered next door
for three squares a day
and didn’t hurry back,
afraid they’d be eaten.
No, we couldnt even afford a stray cat.
We dressed in each other’s
hand-me-down clothes – threads
by the time they got to me.
My best friend was a skinny cockroach,
too weak to crawl to the neighbors.
We told each other bedtime tales -
his about crumbs, mine about delusions.
A teacher threatened to send me home
one day when I fell asleep in her class.
She relented when I told her my folks
had sent me off as their only hope.
I was so thin I fit in the pencil sharpener,
couldn’t slap chalk from the board erasers.
Then, the miracle meat Spam was discovered.
A cure? If only we’d owned a can opener.
(Published in the Fall 2005 issue of the Parnassus Literary Journal)
Note: Hyperbole? Of course. Or was it? We were poor, but in those days, the late Thirties and early Forties, almost everyone was poor. We just didn’t know we were, all of us pretty much lookalikes in the neighborhood. One advantage I and my siblings had over most: we ate well each day, our mother a wonderful cook, Dad the provider. Our days often started with a huge mound of boiled rice, topped with butter, salt, pepper and crunchy bacon rolled into bits with our hands. An Oklahoma luxury, we were told. Got us going in the morning, sustained us throughout school hours. Oh, yes, we did befriend the cockroaches and mice, all non-paying boarders in Mom’s boarding house. Seemed to go with the territory there in D.C. All of us survived tough times, mice and roaches included.
