image from timelife.com
Today mass homelessness is more prevalent than
ever. Instead of shacks made of wood from pallets
and crates, cardboard and scraps of metal, we find
filthy and tattered tents, old cars and RV’s as
domiciles. Encampments seem to sprout under every
bridge and along city streets, city parks, and business
parking lots. I see the mentally ill, drug addicts, and
petty criminals, but I also see whole families living
on the streets.
What’s the answer? The poet in me is aware that I
dress in their stories patterned and purple as night,
thick and muggy as cold fog at dawn, hungry and
maligned in the underbelly of America. I witness
both desperation and an infestation of plague fleas.
Covid and ill heath prevent me from any activism.
I’m stranded along the freeway watching cars collide
and lives being lost.
Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub Prosery