“Any change for the homeless Irish?”
Is called in the streets,
Beneath a heavy, fat cloud,
Raining only on him.
A poor Indian,
Coaxed by promises,
Falls asleep on a bridge,
And has the misfortune to wake in a bed.
“Oh no!” he thinks,
“I must run and sleep,
Back on the bridge,
I can’t be seen helped!”
But the call is heard again,
Filled with woeier woe,
“Any change for the homeless Irish?”
A Kenyan,
Disowned and disserted,
For Loving,
Is left starved and hungry,
Only to blink and be fat and full.
“No! What happened!”
His rich skin is tight and taut,
Over a terribly fed belly,
He must hide for the shout from the road.
“Any change for the homeless Irish?”
No one must be cared for,
No one must be,
So long as he is bitter,
Selfish in his pity.
#HI
About the Creator
Conor Matthews
Writer. Opinions are my own. https://ko-fi.com/conormatthews
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Comments (2)
Very deep sensitivity towards social injustice and human suffering. With intense images and emotions, you manage to make us feel the despair of marginalized individuals. Well done!
This was poignant and thought provoking. Loved your poem!