‘Twas once a place in the grand country of the uS of a
Called Hampshire
Mais, n’est pas Hamster, parce que
The economy included therewithal was rather jolly
But malais as the latin speakers would say
In contradiction.
Drinking water was poor and the hobos as well
Though hobos in essence detest money
Unless they don’t
And they beat in your windshield with a crutch
That they use to gain sympathy:::
but if Hampshire has a food bank
surely a million six-th graders work there
sorting potttatoes and pears and giving
to homeless who need.
Love, do I, the homeless. They roast soup over fire and
Live.
Live more honorably, rather, than corporate drones whose
offices surround them like hot blankets from the
Dryer when they’re five.
And protected from their corruption, they sleep lacking
humanity.