poem

On the street they pray
Hands out
Palms up
They do it all day
Got change, a cigarette stray
Inclement of weather
Estranged
With mange
Enslaved in their ideals
Not to save
Yet, with cardboard
Can rearrange
Like a magic wand was waved
Transform like magic
On their little stage
A tiny house
From which to play
To display
Homely items gay
A squidgy at hand
For dirty cars
Now Fords are the stars
They must be cleaned
Must glean
Front…