...christmas...

the organizers wanted to thank us

but how could they...

the way the outstretched hands did

even the men who held their heads to the ground quiet
meal box sitting upon the piles of rubble the people called their lives...

group number 6
on a coaster bus trailing stomachs
in the wake of higher taxes
and the colder sidewalks of December.

a composite of ladies,
a young boy and the few lone ranging men.
congregated to one cause from all angles...

peaceful women from warring factions
fear rival turf where meals must go...
carefree men go the extra mile, while the boy sits watching.

despite being sent as an agent to gullies
the only scrutiny took place on the main

where the pain in societies tooth was most obvious
cavities which seemed most rotten were filled with curry goat
fry chicken and rice and peas

when asked to turn left
they held right...

i asked what gunmen would do
to a group of people whose souls
had been tugged by the same magnet
as that which tugged them to hunger...

the police stopped the bus and asked
what is this irregular operation
stopping outside the designated areas

the people shivered in the bus
speaking their sunday best on a friday evening some called christmas
shaking in fear not thinking the officer might want a meal
in his state borrowed blue white bat mobile

they silenced me asking me not to make trouble
no arguments they said they wanted, while
riverton sits soggy on the swamped edge of the dump.

maybe a few children playing with an old tire in a new building
composed of their fathers zinc collection might need a meal and...

the bus couldn't leap the hurdles of fear

here we are, looking for obvious sores
fearing embarassment from those
who might turn us away...

i feel this like church
i feel this like God wants his creation to
feel this like the media wants kids to feel Santa Claus...