by Becky Harblin
Corn spread out for the deer
each and every hoof print
in the snow filled.
Spots of blue, gray, and red.
Mourning Doves, Blue Jays,
Cardinals, Squirrels, and briefly,
a small rabbit.
Bellies being filled in the houses,
cookies and toast
and eggs surround electronics.
Wrapping paper
piled in the computer box,
one-handed Wii being played
while drinking hot cocoa.
Children’s voices.
The old computer recycled,
landing next year in Africa.
Where 10 year old dusty dark
kids strip, burn,
and search the piles
of hard drives,
to sell the noxious metals.
Their bellies only filled for a day,
these children with no voice.
And no one is computing
the damage
to their kidneys, livers, and brains.
Becky Harblin works as a sculptor and Wellness Arts Practitioner. She lives on a small farm in upstate New York with a few sheep, and an old newfoundland dog. The daily haiku she writes can be found online. Her poems have been published in various places including New Verse News.
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