once a year

transient,
homeless,
…….vagabond,
…………bum…
these are the words
we call them.

hungry,
cold,
……lonely,
………ashamed
are the words they
call themselves.

I am sure it was you —
yes, you, standing
……there smiling
………and gracious

as you fill bowls,
working
……your annual shift
……….at the shelter —

who drove past these
same souls
……as they stood
………on the corner

holding their signs.

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1 Comment

Filed under Poetry

One response to “once a year

Some of what I write is true, some is fiction; most is merely possibility.

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