Second-Grader

I am in the second grade
For the second time at another
Elementary school and
A classmate invites me
To spend Friday night
At his home.
My parents agree and I go
Home with him after school,
He and his mother live in
A one-room place with two
Sleeping alcoves covered
By heavy drapes and a
Table with three chairs and
A few essential appliances
And one pull string lightbulb in
The center of the ceiling.
They are poor beyond my
Imagination of poor and
His father is in the army
Fighting in the Korean War.
We are all driven by an
Uncle someone to a
Special supper of East
St. Louis of spare ribs,
Amazingly delicious given
The place is a shack covered
In gray shingle tar paper in
The heart of the ghetto and
The Uncle seems more
A lover than a relative.
We are dropped at their
Home and my friend falls
Asleep at once in
His alcove bed behind a drape.
His mother and I sit at the
Poorly lit table and she pours
Her heart out on her being so
Alone and lonely as her tears
Fall down her cheeks and
She holds my hand and
Rests her head on my
Shoulder and sobs with
The agony of a young
Woman trying to raise
Her child in poverty.
I think it is odd she
Opens her feelings to
A second-grader like
Me but I understand
She is feeling guilty
And abandoned
And desperate
To tell someone
Who will listen
Her litany of
Woes as I clumsily
Stroke her hair.