Scrapyard

I walked along the lonely street each time i went to work.
a scrapyard of metal dirt and trash was spread all around
the patch of earth that connected me and the food bank where i worked. theyre were cones all around heading you warning not to step in. but i always ignored them as many others did. for not much further into the yard was the scrapyard of humans. tents sleeping bags grocery carts blankets and various scraps held the home for many of the outcasts. each time i would walk through a smile would spread across rheyre face because they knew it was time for theyre starving stomachs to get some relief. our organzation didnt have much money so we were only able to provide one meal a day for the poor souls.they all knew me by name but not just becuase i served them food each day. As I served the food and looked into theyre sad beaten and outcast faces i rembered the day when my home was with them.

Reviews

[emmajoy]

That is heart breaking. It happens all over the world.. I mean people waiting for food, for kind hand-outs, living on the streets and, those who have been part of that life. You've written about the tragic happening with brevity but, you've said so much.

[RHEA CROSLEY]

Very powerful poem. I like it. Thank you.