the statistician counts numbers
of poor
and erases the faces
that fell through the cracks.

numbers fit better, easier
to swallow than names,
easier to digest
and forget.

there is no way up
this ladder of wealth
when no one shows
how to walk upwards.

at the signals roll up
your windows
sip your cokes, and
pretend you can only see
the sun dimmed in your shades

and, that the house
you live in, wasn't made
by people living under
the poverty line.