The Last Job

Your thin long shadows,
Strings of lusty eyes grab them.
Each stares through thy window-sill,
Through the rented wardrobe,
To thy child's aborted foetus heart.
Thy smile; a borrowed chink of coins,
Thy tears; rivulets in waste land.
Wingless birds stray like dogs hungry,
Thy child feed them full with crys!
Now this last customer...
Thee have no time to wait,
Lest thy child die hungry.