LAND OF THE FREE
Frail as the morning fog she floats through the
Workday crowd carrying in her lackluster eyes the look
Of poverty born of need. In mute despair she holds
A hand-scrawled sign: hungry...will work for food.
Mercy as the wolf receives is hers as passersby
Sporting Armani suits and Gucci shoes
Are cautious to avoid the touch of her skin
And dutifully careful to avert her pleading gaze.
Every moment of the clock accumulates to form her name.
She knows there must be somewhere it doesn't happen like this.
Immune to rejection and pity, she whose only crime is hardship
Skeletons off into an alley splayed with somberness and gloom.
If she's lucky...no one will steal her sign while she sleeps.
If she's lucky...tonight it may not rain.
If she's lucky...she may live to see another day
In the land of the free and the home of the brave.
~~
By Sharon Peeples
© 2008 Sharon Peeples
(All rights reserved)
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