That Little Laborer
by Bipin Khatiwada
He is just eight.
Out of ragged shorts.
Mucus running from little nose.
That dirty yellow t-shirt
Worn for a year,
Not washed since then.
Strength of his sore shoulder,
Carries sacks of sand.
He sweats for food.
No house, no family.
A street urchin does not go to school,
But is beaten by his boss
For not coming to work on time.
His innocence can do nothing.
That little laborer.
(Editor’s Note: NonDoc publishes poetry, short prose, visual art and other artistic ideas pitched by creatives in Oklahoma and around the world. All submissions are encouraged, and new creatives are constantly being sought. Submit your work for publication by contacting Editorial@NonDoc.com.)
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