Man in Box

 

 

Shack in his metal box,

He cannot take even one step.

His photos are all over the world

Taken by the tourists, perhaps.

 

His feet are plants,

Outside of the home.

Showered by the rain,

Dried by the sunshine.

 

His body chilly as ice.

Shivers in the wind,

Frozen by the snow.

Melted by the donation of a warm heart.

 

His hands are bark,

So cold they are numb,

Gloves of grime,

Cannot keep them warm.

 

Nothing left but a box.

He wants what we want most,

I can see through his eyes,

He’s hoping for survival.

Nonchalance of the pain.