Sunday, November 27, 2011


Check it out, see what's going down...
As they gather round, huddling and roiling
A pabulum ring around a mound

Passersby rubber-neck; seeing crowds
Seeing nothing, but will say they saw if asked
They were there, passing, staring...

And eventually the lights arrive
Rapid responce, but not so rapid as a crowd...
A crowds rabid vapid responce

Slowly they part; deprived and repelled
Slowly churn and shuffle rancorously back
As help arrives a few years too late 


Nara Malone said...

Minutes always seem like years when you wait for rescue.

Anonymous said...

Hello, I found you on Sunday Scribblings as I tried the same prompt. Your use of the word "pabulum" (thank you for a new word!) puts in my mind's eye a homeless person surrounded by the flotsam and jetsam that passes for their diet. Hence the "years too late." That's what I took from it. Thought-provoking, cynical, and so very real, a good poem! Amy

Understanding Alice said...

ooh, very good - a true word-picture