Their homes come in up to three parts
All they own packed in shopping carts
Bound together like a 20 mule train
Unpacked at night... in morn packed again...
Many settle up tents to form a "safe zone"
Tis not safe for women nor weak to be alone
The "POPO" will let the sleep fairly well at night
Waking and rousting them isn't always right...
The local park is up and to the left of my street
Upon grass lay heavy quilts the scent is sweet
A homeless of whom I feed several a time
He begs not with "Brother you got a dime???"...
Had I the vehicle with which to do what I could
To pick up farmers fresh goods I surely would
Then in my kitchen that is so micro small
I would have the food needed to feed nearly all...
They call me crazy for beyond sight I dream
Many copy my styles, my ways, I'm their meme
Since my organs have been awash with kemo
Mine eyes see what others are to blind to know...
This world is being put to a struggle, a test
Only the naturally immune will be the best
That's why I've helped the needy to cope
To survive their struggle, have reason for hope...
I care not if they pull up to a triple line of carts
It's so damn painful when I see the no hearts
Push away those "Tiny Mobile Home Carts"...
The Route 66 Struggle lives on and on...
JJSweets 22Feb21 11:05 hrs
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J