A POEM - A MATTER OF CENTS

A MATTER OF CENTS
The train would stop in the smaller towns,
And the aisles would be flooded
With people selling all sorts of shit.
Food and plastic balls and noise makers.
The kids outside would jump up and pound on the train,
Yelling at the people to give them money.
I was the only white guy on the train.
They kinda singled me out, the rich white man.
I just ignored the little fuckers.
Then as we began to roll out of the towns,
A couple guys my age, a few seats back,
Would begin to laugh and throw coins,
Making the children run after the train,
Racing each other for the coins,
Whose value was equivalent to pennies.
It was just another display of humorous cruelty,
Customary in those countries.
Kids sprinting down the train tracks,
and girls dancing around poles,
Or opening beers with their cunts.
And all for a matter of cents.