Ken Baker

Rookie (ancient / Brooklyn)

Homeless Vet - Poem by Ken Baker

at a traffic corner,
your chest-high sign
need work.

broke and cold,
wearing a Santa hat,
you work the crowd,

but cheeks freeze
red-boned in winter.
you start to make your way
towards the Salvation Army.
inside four walls
a chair,
a means to carve out a piece of God,
wring out a piece of faith.
though no one has to tell you
that poverty is official
and that faith you once had.
and a quiet attitude,
each night
you lie in your own wilderness,
on some plateau of the past.
yet here you are.
still I wonder,
in your sleep
do you imagine tables full of food.
tell me-
does that black garbage bag
keep you warm
each night.

© Ken Baker 2010
All rights Reserved

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Topic(s) of this poem: sorrow

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Poem Edited: Thursday, August 7, 2014

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