Francie Nolan

[Ariadne]

I live a life of poverty

On an under-developed Brooklyn street

With somber looking houses

That were lost in defeat

Our house is something of a run down shack

The roof is crumbeling in

And the walls are over-ridden with cracks

There is a small space outside

They call it a yard

No grass or flowers grows there

Just cement with fragmented glass shards

My brother and I melt down money for extra change

I have no friends because

To the other kids I seem peculiar or strange

I go to a school that resembles a jail

The little kids with dirty faces

Out of fear and other emotions,

bully's warths they dread and hail

To my brother, myself and my mom

My father is a good man

Who often stumbles home drunk

Trying not to trip over our trash can

He gives us his wages and keeps his tips

So he can stop by the neighborhood bar

To wet his lips

My mother works her finger to the bone

So we don't starve

Or get kicked out of our home

She cleans all the floors from top to

bottom of our sharing house

Almost as if to apologize for her

Most of the time half-drunken spouse

The library is my sanctuary away from my home

It's the only place I can sit and reflect alone

My best firends are novels and meaty books

Other children don't give me so much as a look

There is a tree outside my house that grows

It has sprouted from the ground

and only grows stronger with time

A very ugly tree, but yet beautiful in its tenacity

Although I live this life

I don't despair because I have my family

And as a family we have each other

And for the rest of the world we don't care