soapy illusions

I lived in a bubble.

and that bubble was popped

by the shards of glass

sticking like teeth out of concrete

to keep the gangs out.

by the ring of tin

as the children who lived within

played on the dirt floors.

By starved faces and emaciated bodies

hidden by dirt and smiles.

by the silver painted faces

younger than me

working by the light

of the traffic.

By the girls

who hands were dirty and callused

instead of clean and soft like my own

because as I worked math problems,

they worked tortilla dough to survive.

I could see

their pain,

but I didn’t do anything to help.

was I better off in that illusive bubble?