By Carla   

Of pearls and poems
She spoke
As her feet dabbled in the sea’s foam
As she stepped in to soak

Midday, no sweat, no toil
One of the privileged
Always washing away the soil
As if to touch it, would be to acknowledge
Something that had spoiled.

And they are the rich.
Candied delights,
Not to their liking, are pitched.
Never having to fight
For what should be theirs.

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The haves and the have nots.