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.
Copyright © Justin Presson | Year Posted 2007
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