The latch key kids,
Tamika, Charles
and his sister,
Rebecca, have them
They perch on front porch stoops
staring at passing cars
in the little light that’s left
making wisecracks
with a sharpness
that is frightening
I never know if they’ve
had their supper or not
I’ve seen them often
walking home from school
in knee deep snow
leading each other
by the hand
After sundown their houses
are dark inside
They are no strangers
to the night