Nobody Has A Name! Poem by Eric Cockrell

down in the poverty south,
dead body by the tracks.
another football hero,
bathtub meth and anger.
dark shadowed mother weeping,
waiting on the preacher.
while the unemployed old man,
scratches up pennies for smokes.
baptism remembered,
before erections and gunpowder.
neath the picture of his cousin,
who died in Iraq...
the old factory building collapses,
empty on empty...
Jesus died for your sins,
even He cant get a job!
sister hot and pregnant,
turns the fan on high.
the last beans have been canned,
and the rent's past due...
everything tastes like ashes,
the sky filled with angry clouds.
the old dog barks at nothing,
and lays back down to sleep.
rain mixed with hail,
pelts the tin roof with fury.
and nobody has a name,
a past, or a future!