The Poor Nation

root - Posted on 01 January 2000

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

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.


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?


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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