Less of Home

They say you can’t stop the madness and sadness when you don’t have an address
She sits sadly on a sidewalk stoop begging humans for spare change
Not realizing that she inhabits a society that’s too cold for anyone to spare change
So she wanders aimlessly while cold eyes gallantly gait by her shamelessly
As she wonders what their response would be if her visage was more famously recognizable
But when you’re less of home you don’t amount to anything sizeable
So she finds a hole under the bridge that has failed to link her to the highway of humanity’s heart
And she reminisces about a life she no longer knows
And wonders what would have become of her if those bills weren’t so late
Or if those pills eased her aches
Or if at age 5 there was no rape by her father
But why bother because you can’t stop the madness and sadness when u don’t have an address
So she wonders what heat feels like in the cold of wintered human thought
And devilishly devises schemes that’ll lead to the warm walls incarceration
While in-cars-her-8-n-a-half-yr-old daughter swallows the dic-tation of a married man’s desires
And this just adds too much fuel to the fire of one of earth’s fallen angels
Living too close to hell in a world that resembles the devil
So disheveled she wonders how could hell be so cold
And how can another man be so bold to believe
That as he walks by in suit and t-i-e
That he could never one day be in the same place as she
And she cries out loud: “is there really no place for me?”
As she looks out at a society sick with the syndrome of selfishness and senile to serendipity
If she only had a P.O. Box so she could receive correspondence to acknowledge her existence
Or if she just had an I.D. to prove she was part of humanity
But where is city hall for the humane?
It is only at this point she realizes that day has turned to night
And the government today won’t be her knight in shining armor
But are-more of us going to keep turning our backs to the stats of those who roam, less of home?
Where is the presidential address for those without an address?
When will that bridge she sleeps under bridge the gap
Between those who preach on their soap boxes, and those who live in one?
In shopping malls she sees CNN snippets of Palestinian peace treaties and refugees returning home
She wonders how an Afghan can stand in a U.S. constructed house
While her son sits in a cardboard box with a dead mouse and pigeon for pets
She wonders whether there will be Camp David Accords
Or North American End Homelessness Agreements
For citizens abandoned by the American dream
Until that day, she strides in her reminiscent insignificance
As she trolleys through trash cans for scrapes of human sanctity
And a little leftover love from a society that once claimed her as one of its own
–But that was when she had a home
If only she had an address to stop the madness and sadness
And I want to reach out and take her in
Or maybe give her a dollar to help her achieve just one whim
And I want to say that her hopes are not too thin in a world so fat with apathy
But as I walk by her hopeless face, I complacently say to her:
“I can’t spare any change today, maybe tomorrow.”
Maybe tomorrow I can spare change
Maybe tomorrow we can all spare some change
And dare to change

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