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by A Faye Hicks
The PEOPLE are being Scattered
shuffling along with, blankets, backpacks, shopping bags & pushing carts
No more Unity in the poor Nations
Park benches uprooted----shopping carts over-turned, homeless people unjustly
arrested
Police circling around like VULTURES,camouflaged as Human Beings
The sick living in doorways, & behind cardboard boxes.
Bathrooms locked, water fountains denied
“This is a sad state” Thought the tired so-called Bag Lady
Alone, Mental Facilities sorely tested, Weakened by a gnawing hunger.
From her womb, Misery was etched upon her copper tone belly
She paused too rest for a moment
Dark eyes glazing into the distant skies
Pondering the next move
Remembering the Peaks of her non-existance
An old Lady at Eighteen
Birds flying in formation, overhead
Dark clouds floating, silently in shapes of nightmares
Her only safe shelter the Blazing Sun, capturing her attention
“If only I had a Star to wish upon or Something I can get some energy from.
She stepped upon the wet, well-cut lawn of a Californian City Hall
Its dampness drinking in & nourishing her being
Her breast painful from unused Mother’s Milk
Sticking to her dress, Ragged around the edges of her soul.
Its wetness the Morning Dew or Her Deluge of Tears
Coming from deep within a inner well.
THE POOR POOR NATION
Ah, The grass, so soothin to her wiggling toes. COMFORT
Half worrying about Police Surveillance
Knowning she was on Public Property
Not daring to rest
Because a trespassing ticket, would dip off into her Funds?
The gold nail polish on her sun burnt toes glinting magically
Spiraling undrugged thoughts upward seeking SUCCOR
A hole in the Bushy Hedges?
Dare she rest? A Haven?
Her curled into a Tiny Ball! Her hide-away bed The City Hall
With its Black & Gold Dome, warrin against a winter sun
A King’s Ranson, Battling against the principals of the Homeless Nation
Unnatural Flags, weavin in the Beautiful Breezes, Compromising Life
One Nation Under God?
YO! YES
The power hunger god!
The prestigous god!
The Greedy Gut god!
And The blood thirsty one!
Ah, Knowling she signed, Better get a move on
There is no rest for my weary Bones here.
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