Who Are You To Judge? - A poem of the Streets.

The few are not ruining it.
It's the many, I'm finding.
So many restrooms closed now
where once the public went
after ruined or made filthy
by those who need help
but only get shunted aside
into the shelter systems nationwide.

Parks with new, nastier rules
about when and where folks
can sit, talk, lay down
just because those with money
find it offensive to them
that others less fortunate go
into places they view theirs
by dint of taxes paid.

We pay taxes, though, fools.
Not just in dollars measured.
The tax of lost sleep,
the tax of hopes dashed,
the one exacted from souls
with dirty looks from passers-by
who act like we should
all be locked up forever.

Judge not, oh foolish people.
Your real problem with us
is you are one step
from being in our boat.
One disaster or one mistake
and you'll be out here
in the cold, bitter winter
holding one of these signs.

So don't be an idiot,
crying out "Get a Job"
as you walk by us,
unless you're willing to hire
the person you chide so.
Turn your nose up carefully
for when you wind up
down here, it may break.

Pride goes before the fall.
Look deep into your soul
think it over before judging
and remember the Indian's Prayer,
or at least the Outlaw's.
Who walks among us now?
Only we seem to know,
cause others don't really care.

26August2013 - Dyfedd Rex