at the end of the street

at the end of the street,
there is the tiniest of houses,
in which lives the smallest of people,
with the biggest of hearts.

their giving often going unnoticed,
their tired eyes, never thanked.

the day comes when the most miniature
of families
snaps.

surprised looks on corpses' faces
as they lay on porches
and in the streets.
slashed, beaten and bloody.

the family returns, unaffected.
to their tiny house
at the end of the street
where they wait.

they join for dinner,
staring out their window,
excited for the chance to do good,
repeating their cycle of give and take.