High water has driven the homeless from their encampment on the west side of the river. In that place alone, they number in the hundreds. They turn up everywhere — downtown, in parks, under bridges, in the public library, in the hospital half-starved and with nasty infections.
Moss grows on asphalt. Daffodils make way for tulips.
How high is high moral ground? What is it like to live there?
No one questions the oaks, no one asks if they are here by choice, or if they would rather be somewhere else. They grow where they are planted.
If my feet hurt because I need new shoes, and if I have the money to buy them, should I do so, or should I give the money to someone whose need for shoes is greater than mine?
Is need itself a need? Or is it a want? Is pleasure a need? Is pain?
Where I come from,
even scars have scars.
I call this Beauty,
and in giving scars the name,
I make other scars
Recently Banned Literature, February 25, 2014
Twelve Poems, Poets International
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