This Poem was Submitted By: Eleanor Strong On Date: 2001-03-05 19:14:13 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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discarded

People  are discarded everyday. Heaps of trash with beating hearts  Are harldly cast a glance. Dull eyes gather round incinerators 50 gallon drums in flames; Their cardboard bodies, Cut open and emptied of valuables Easily recognized, Kind hearts are moved to help them. Food drives, legistaltion, diners and flop houses; Proof that we are humane. (Some are harder to see. They disguise themselves so cleverly.) I have a job, drive an oldsmobile. I have value, I've been told. My friends are many , precious gold nuggets. Gorgeous, I've been called. Do you recognize that I'm an empty box? Earrings and fresh lipstick deceive kind hearts And turn their attention elsewhere. They don't see I've been cut open, Valuables exposed and taken. Of course not. I'm bandaged with silver and gold, a Guicchi bag, And Liz Claiborne on my back, pretty wrappings for one of the discarded.

Copyright © March 2001 Eleanor Strong


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