Just call me
Mr. Window,
Ask me why?

You stare right
through me
with uncaring eyes,

Contingency threatens
to silence my heart,
but this is not
the hardest part,

The hardest part,
it seems to me,
is how you people
fail to see

With one misfortune,
your life slips by,
and you could
end up just as I

Without a home,
without a friend,
flirting with
a fateful end

If, God forbid,
misfortune visited today,
would you want to
be treated this way?

(Gif sourced from Giphy.com)

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About This Poem

This poem harkens back to the late 80’s and is among the first pieces of poetry ever wrote in my teens. The form and word choice are so much different than something I would write now but I still like the message.

When I was younger I never understood how, in a world of such abundance, there could be so many people without access to basic human necessities. As I’ve become an adult I’ve come to understand more about the complexities of the problem of homelessness.

I've learned there are so many reasons why people end up on the street -- bad luck, abuse, a feeling of disconnect from modern society, mental illness, addiction...the list goes on. Many times hitting rock-bottom is the manifestation of much deeper issues.

I’ve always felt a deep connection with the the issue of homelessness. When I was younger my dad told us stories about how he would hitchhike back and forth between Ohio and the West coast (back in the 1950’s and 60’s when you could do it relatively safely.) He would be dropped off in a town where he didn’t know a soul and would need to find a place to sleep and food.

Sometimes, when he was completely out of money, he would take odd jobs or ask the local sheriff if he could sleep in a jail cell. He said back then most small town sheriffs would let him. One of the best meals he said he could ever remember in his entire life was one you might not expect. After not eating for a few days and finally getting paid for a handyman job my father said he went straight to a small grocery store and bought a loaf of bread, a package of bologna, and an onion and ate until he couldn’t anymore. I’m very lucky to say I’ve never had to experience this hunger or uncertainty in my entire life.

Every time I think about what my father went through and the issue of homelessness in general, my first world problems very quickly vanish into thin air. As my writing career grows I’m going to actively search for ways I can help and will do so anonymously.

Enjoy your weekend, Steemians! Don't forget to count your blessings and help others when you can.

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*I am an American novelist, poet, traveler, and Steemit enthusiast. If you’ve enjoyed my poetry, autographed copies of my handmade poetry chapbooks, Emancipation, and The Greatest of Secrets are for sale now on Peerhub for a limited time.

Eric Vance Walton - Media

www.ericvancewalton.net
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