Broken Children

Old cola cans and broken beer bottles

Litter the ground, nested in the pinestraw.

Candy wrappers slowly decay in the sun

As they rot away in the streets, their homes.

The yellow paint clings desperately to the walls

Like the milk bottles they used to hold,

Only milk was replaced so long ago.

Now Mary Jane is the only one cheap enough

To be their friend.

(There is a metaphor in this that may be considered inappropriate, let me know if I need to delete this reply).