People Like to Hurt Each Other

The stuff in our sink was orange & smelled

like boiled eggs, so my brother, my sister,

& I harvested our drinking water

from the playground a mile away from our

trailer. Every day, two of us would tug

a blue, five-gallon jug to the spicket

there & lug it home, our arms made of the

ache of forty-two pounds of metallic-

clean water. When someone put a chain on

the spicket, I didn’t know why. Because

we were stealing, I guess, but I still don’t

know who owns that water. I still don’t know

who saw two tired kids with an empty jug

& thought the solution there was a chain.

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