Thursday, November 29, 2012


Their melancholic framework sags
in filthy threadbare rags
and on their dirty cracking feet
are plastic shopping bags,

they scrounge through trash for scraps to eat
for precious spoiled meat
but on most days they only find
a banquet of defeat

but that's ok, they seldom mind
they're quietly resigned
to living like a leper might
ignored by their own kind

as though they don't exist despite
the amplitude of plight
that you can ease with just a smile
when they are in your sight.


Dave King said...

"Enjoyed" might not be the appropriate word, but I appreciated this enormously, the barely concealed barbs, beautifully deployed. A true "protest" poem.

Old Ollie said...

a brutal reality

rch said...

Yes it's sad that some people live this way, thanks guys.