Chicago Shoe Girl
My parents were poor, and
We lived in a shoe,
But so did all my friends, and
I never felt it or knew
That some kids got more presents
Or wore brand new clothes.
I never ate pheasants,
But I learned to sew.
I always had paper.
I always had twine.
I had my mother's stapler
And walls with thick, climbing vines.
I made little, clay castles
And played in the park.
We kept books in the toe,
And read when it got dark.