Huddled under cardboard,
Old Annie shivers.
Surrounded by layers of rags and bags,
Scavenged bits hoarded against the cold,
Shoved into cracks, or
Worn as a layered mantle
No room open for her tonight
No place to warm her tired bones
They say it’s not cold enough.
Twelve degrees.
The winds howl,
Sweeping down these city streets
Stirring up ghosts of every December
Those souls who couldn’t be saved
No place to warm their bones
No room opened for them
Someone said it’s not cold enough.
"South Dakota is a swinged cat, better than she looks."
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When it comes to stewed prunes, are three enough or are four too many?
That was sad, only to come to the conclusion that human beings are rude, and have less compassion for one another. I was visiting my Dad the other day in the nursing home and the nurse there looked frustrated with my Dad. My Dad is blind, and hard of hearing, has a very long list of medical problems, is a mouth breather, and now falls over when he walks in a walker. While everyone around is making fun of him and is embarrassed by his outbursts, I stood there and had tears come out of my eyes. No compassion they didn’t have.
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Oh that breaks my heart! My poem was inspired by another blogger, Jan Wilberg. She lives in Milwaukee and the warming rooms there won’t open unless the temperatures dip below 10°F. They don’t take the wind chill factor into consideration, either, so these folks are subject to hypothermia and frostbite. It makes my heart hurt.
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That’s sad as well, Nananoyz
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I hate to hear this. I would be on the phone reporting them to anyone I could. That is unacceptable!! I am so sorry!!
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Jan’s fighting for them. And a lot of other good folks, as well.
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I do as well.
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This is so sad. I volunteered for a homeless shelter for about three years and the stories I heard…. I think though here in SE Michigan, they open the warming rooms based on date more than temperature. That could be a problem too though.
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At least they’re predictably open!
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