WELFARE
Up the musty hall stairs
Darkened by a host of shuffled feet
Echoing thr'ough the third boor
orridor, you find the glass-lined door
With greasy little men behind
me faded gUt-edged letters on the glass here shuffled papers pass for records Of the meager lives engulfed in need. he documents succeed, perpetuating
unger for the product of their greed.
The third floor victims of society.
