There’s a slummer place—
And when it rains or storms,
No one’s safe and warm.
Rain pours in that slummer place.
Alarm—it ain’t rat-free,
It’s old and moldy; lice are there,
Mildew grows.

It’s full of gloomy guys
Who have sunken eyes
Because they haven’t fressed grub.

On the street they get snubs;
This slummer place
Is where they all can share
Needles without care,
Without hopes,
Without dreams,
Without grub.

Where’s this slummer place?
On streets Main and Acorn;
It’s foreclosure-born—
And on farms, because sharks
Caused us harms with their ARMs*.
The alarms were disarmed. . .
The gendarmes, snoozed sans qualms. . .
Third World charms: ’burbs and farms.


*adjustable rate mortgages