What they say...

Poverty Through Brown Eyes
by Andrew, Otahuhu

These eyes of mine are in familiar places,
no life or depth just empty spaces.
I walk up the road to find cardboard boxes of alcohol substances.
No more needs to be lost here.
Four alcohol shops in the space of a 2km races
What’s happening to this place?
No park or day care places.
The TAB next to the pub.
What’s this frikin called…it’s like a field day for the parents of P.I. children.
No bread, no butter, all the kids cry
“Maybe next Thursday bub”, says the mum to the child.
Poverty through brown eyes
Ain’t much of a smile.

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