“Not being heard is no reason for silence.”
― Victor Hugo
The Skid Row boys arrive at 2am
dressed in all black,
stomachs like canyons,
hearts full of fire.
They drive up in their mothers’ beat-up sedans,
photographs of their younger siblings scotch-taped
to the dashboards, cellphones on vibrate, headlights low,
all the extra seats pushed down to make room
for the produce they will take
away in garbage bags,
pound after pound
till the whole car overflows with crisp bell-peppers,
ripe apples, steak only a day older than stores need them to be.
Tired of food pantries that give out only loaf after loaf of bread,
the Skid Row boys take matters into their own hands–
grocery stores throw
15 billion dollars of food
into their dumpsters,
so it is to the dumpsters they go with battle cries
in their mouths, pick locks, climb fences, ignore police
sirens to storm the alleys full of trash like Bastille boys
stormed the jail, like French students on the dawn
of revolution, to find
to save their families
from starvation. The law means nothing if the law won’t
keep them fed, and food means nothing if it wastes.
The Skid Row boys know hunger, how it sweeps like an angel
through their streets, carries off the homeless by their belt loops,
makes the best weep,
how they’ve all wept so many
times. But no more.
Tomorrow there will be full bellies, for tonight there is
By Mica K
Mica K is a twenty year old Virginia kid who gets sentimental about constellations, sunrises, hot tea, and good poetry. They were more than likely born with a book in their hand and a poem in their mouth. They currently study English and Creative Writing at university.