Broken Slippers

City lights. City streets. Street kids sniffing rugby beneath city lights.
Dirty faces, tattered shirts. Battered slippers stringed together,
If any.
Where's your 'ma and 'pa?The answers never change, but ask.
Go on.
“In the market selling bulad.”
Passers-by stare; Stare them down.
“At home, drinking.”
They look away and walk on. “Playing mahjong.”
"At the cockpit, gambling." They don’t know, don't bother.
“At the Church, begging.”
Some blame God, then pray for a miracle.
To many, shabu is the miracle.
And the horror in the silence,
Behind those
Hungry eyes, dirty faces poking out from
Oversized, tattered shirts
Skinny arms, skinny legs
Feet tired and calloused.
Spirit. Unbroken.