THIS IS WHAT I NEED.

 You hand out your superficial gifts
like a clown gives MacIntosh’s toffees to children at a fair.
I want not of your wallet.
Keep your purse strings tied tight,
a heart you have to buy is not worth the price.
Do not give me the shirt off your back.
It does not fit me
and the colour does not match my eyes.
Your gifts are not why I am here.

I have tasted hardship.
I see it without fear.
As a child I worked days in the fields.
The pastures are my friends.
There were times when the breadline was the only roof above my head.
Those times were not the warmest
but it kept off the rain.
I will survive.

I want not of your gifts.
I need only of your heart.

© Matthew Robertson

1997

This poem won third place in the LOGAN PARK HIGH SCHOOL WRITING COMPETITION POETRY SECTION in 1997

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