Homeless

They clutter the streets of Chicago,
The Ally's, Park Benches,
Even under bridges,
and tucked neatly behind commercial trash cans.
I see them and I turn my eyes shamefully away.
Their begs and pleas fill my aching heart.
"Its for my small children"
"Will Work for food"
"I haven't eat'n since three days ago."
My hand itches for my pocket book
seeing mothers clutch their children to their torn skirts.
Their small eyes reflect the pain of their anguish.
Nevertheless, I turn my eyes away,
as if their cries were never heard.
Deep down I cry.
Christmas day it hurt the most.
A man and woman struggle,
to arrange their entire possitions,
upon a single shopping cart,
covered with torn bags,
to protect from the snow.
Their dirts faces watch me pass with expressionless glares.
My black Pontiac glistens in their glassed over pupils,
Presents bulge from the back seat,
bright with cheery Santa clauses, and ribbon.
They busy themselves with their "home"
and tears fall from my eyes.

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Homeless

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