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a poem by Matthew Dexter

Child Labor

The children rise from the shadows of the marina
to greet the gringos with baskets of painted-wood toys
yet to get beyond the suntan requires something brighter
than merely flashing yellow baby teeth,
twisting the neck; and begging, "Please"
is the equivalent of giving money to their mothers
who wait in the wood and what if of catamarans
and party boats.

© by Matthew Dexter

Gutter Eloquence Magazine ~ Issue #22 ~ July 2012