Anthony Dawson - Shanty Town

Your shanty sits on a hill,

above filth below will.



Shanty of tin and nail,

waterways grey,

living insane.



Corrugated heat traps,

deliberate slum;

social gaps no halfway scale,

zero then one hundred.



Big bellied little children,

not obese,

corruptly diseased,

forever interned in the poorest herd.

Your shanty is fact,

not to the many turned backs which look out of the skyscrapers.

Anthony Dawson

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/shanty-town/