Children with Priorities
The father once again has left them there.
The mother screamed her soul at him today
With bruises fresh and hatred in the air.
Outside the little girls decide to play.
Some worker cleans the yard, at whom they stare,
"Who's he?" The small one smiles, and turns to say,
"He's someone's daddy." Neither knows from where.
If you have any comments on this poem, Frank Hubeny would be pleased to hear from you.