Poverty Our home is cold like the crisp December air The inside is occupied by nothingness And a mattress on the floor. We live on the corner of unable to make ends meet And trying to make enough to pay to eat. Living off of food stamps and government pay Barely making it day by day. Our bank account holds a trampoline amount We go out to eat, our cheques bounce. We are treated like the dirt on your doormat Swept under and forgotten Waiting…