Your own street number, front door, gate, garden
View of something other than piled trash, dark alley
A sanctuary, a nest, a home
No
You don’t get that
Room to stretch out, companionship of a cat
Freedom from fear at 2 a.m.
You don’t get that
You are here to cook our burgers, clean our floors
Shelve our groceries
We need you in a constant state of want and desire
It’s good for you, gives you something to aspire to
Work harder, be thrifty, do not drink
You should’ve stayed in school
Should’ve never fallen in love, had that baby
Dared to dream
Should’ve listened, done what you were told
Maintained your subservience
It’s your own damn fault, because now
You don’t get that
More at https://www.taralynnhawk.com/. Her chapbook of poetry, “The Dead” is available on Smashwords:
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/736913.