by Carolyn Cecil
Above
North Avenue,
summer sweat on once
scrubbed marble steps,
90 degrees dripping.
Upstairs, plastic covered couch,
lead-paint chipped windows,
grimy halls, mystery stench,
exterminator toxins.
Poverty's perfume.
Ponytailed six year old,
quietly distressed, best
dress on; awaits decision.
Legs sticking to the couch,
what does she think of
the monolithic question.
Who gets to live with whom?
A frenzied social worker,
blindly guides. Chooses.
Stuck on rewind decades
later; prickly doubts loom.
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