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it makes me sick.

Do not show me

in large quantities

ribs

rickets

spleens

navels

noses

sores

scars

eyes

expressions.

I tell you

even a single beggar is too much

he humiliates me

I cannot look him in the face

I just don’t have

that kind of courage;

If I drop a coin

in his extended hand

it is because

I want him to go away

it is a bribe

it is because I do not want

to see his face.

His voice and whine put me off,

I do not want to see people

as flies;

when I see poverty as you show it

I am suffocated.

I turn my face away,

I shut my mind

I get clammed up.

You do not have to show me

what surround me.

No matter where I am

what sickens me,

no matter where I am

what oppresses me intrudes on me

no matter where I am

your images of poverty

are flat, second-hand

they evoke no sympathy

                 no anger

                 no protest

                 hate

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