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  • Writer's pictureRandy Nabors



Where is the cry of the poor?

Where do you hear it?

How does that sound travel,

How far can their voice carry,

How loud must it be?

Where is the cry of the poor?

When does their articulation

Resolve in recognition?

Where do you know it?

Will you discern its need,

Will you receive its truth,

Will you own its claim?

Where is the cry of the poor?

Where do you feel it?

When you see its clothes

When you meet its face

When you touch its pain?

One man is running

To outdistance that sound

One man makes noises

So it cannot be heard

Another wears dark glasses

So what he sees we cannot know

And gloves so he will not feel

While many wear hardness for hearts

And apathy for souls.

We posit some supposition

A caveat of inquisition:

Does it take

A walk past Lazarus,

Or a separation from Abraham’s bosom?

Some can see another’s sores

That the dogs lick

Those that won’t will only feel the heat

And wish those they used to command

Would assuage them.

Sound waves of the poor

Which elicit compassion

Come not through the ears

But through the heart!

Is it days of hunger

You need

Lean stomach

And your belly distended

Rags and disassembled shoes

Shopping carts with plastic sheeting

For your home and bed?

Does it require a disease

Which could be cured

Except for the fee

You cannot afford?

Is it the loss of a job

Or eviction


Impoundment or prison

Some circumstantial wrench

To get your attention?

They cry now

And you aren’t disturbed

You’ll cry then

But you won’t be heard.

Randy Nabors, June 27, 2014

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