Change

Home is this gutter Out of the windy cold Hidden under rags An afghan of trials and tribulations And memories of failed tests Family is foreign An unfamiliar song Pounded out on an out Of tune piano Littered with broken strings Language is guttural As is survival With neighbors coughing Around to keep me from sleeping And the squeaking of shopping carts This modern day Hooverville Is forced upon me By futile unfounded expense For war abroad Rather than at home Where freezing starvation is as Much an enemy as liquor and Crack This is a battlefield where guns do not Sound Nor sirens Salvation’s chorus Marked with red crosses Defeat and despair Do not flounder as we do They thrive And feed When we do not All I ask for is a little Change.