Pawn People Poem by JOE POEWHIT

Little, tiny, very small.
Sit all day at the mall.
I get up only to fall.
Kicks - sits - looks and fleas.
I'm really taller on my knees.
Coffee cup in right hand.
All of life seems a band.
Rich people look down on me.
Kicks - spits - looks, again that flea.
Go hide! find a cardboard box.
I must live like a silver fox.
Yet, there are many like me.
All poor - No money, in a way free.
No real burden on my back.
The weight of gold in a sack.
I just live every hour, day.
If not used, I get a wage of pay.
Pawn people are a simple folk.
Outside the eggshell - like yokes.

From my book: DREAMS 3
POEWHIT

JESUS SAVES