Poem from the July 2004 Street Spirit

Our Elders, Our Grandmothers

By Joan Beth Clair

There are old women living on the street in China.
There are old women ling on the street in America.
Their faces are like fading fabric enclosed by peasant scarves.
Their bedless bodies fight the cold and tell us of
Blankets of wealth that do not shelter.

No one can be brought to justice for this, not in a Supreme Court of any nation.
No one can be tried, prosecuted or arrested for these crimes of homelessness.
Not one billionaire can be tried for not giving away all or most of his possessions
To the poor and following him.

There are elders, grandmothers living on the street in China.
There are elders, grandmothers living on the street in America.

And they are our elders, our grandmothers.

“Shooting” the Homeless

by Claire J. Baker

Robert Terrell humanely
Lenses in on the homeless worldwide;
He doesn’t pay his subjects,
But sometimes drops coins
Or cash because the mountain
Is there, and growing taller. 

Unobtrusively he moves in and away,
To the next “click” –
Sadly never a lack of clicks:
 

There’s a poor soul tarped over
In a wheelchair –
Maybe sleeping, maybe dead;
In another frame someone’s mother,
Sister, aunt or cousin wields
A cane, a wary star;
A young blonde woman,
Her calling card a beggin cup –
(a victim of spousal abuse?)

a shabby-clothed man seated arms on knees
head on hands
booted for hiking anywhere
or to heave (which is anywhere but her):
close-up: w wholly-capped woman studying, or eating half an onion, or a potato.

Robert records for sheer truth
Rougher edges of humanity.
SOMEBODY HAS TO DO IT!

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