The Underbelly of Society

I am the poor. I am the forgotten.
I am in plain view, but I am unseen.

I am the underbelly of this so called great society,
where the wealthiest pay little taxes,
and I live in a refrigerator cardboard box.

My body grimy, sticky and smelly
yearns for the caress of warm clean water.
It longs for the luxurious feel of a soft warm mattress,
as I lay on the cold hard cement.

My caved in stomach lonely for the company of food,
shares the screams of despair
with my backside that has no toilet to sit upon.

A shopping cart now holds all of my treasures,
the remains and reminders of a life long lapsed.
See the photo of my two-story house with the white picket fence?
See the portrait of my husband, child and dog?

What happened? you may ask.
Take your pick ...
recession, unemployment,
aggression, divorce,
flood, tornado,
illness, death.

But I should not complain.
My box is the finest on this street of the homeless,
where my neighbors may once have been your own.