Refugees Poem by Greg Davidson

The homeless and rejected,
Now congregate once more,
Like flotsam and jetsam,
On some forgotten shore.

A couch without its cushions,
Its armrest bare and frayed,
A cardboard box of memories
And games no longer played.

A wooden chair that stands askew,
Its strength no longer trusted.
Against it leans a bicycle,
Its buckled wheel now rusted.

Prefabricated furniture
In disassembled parts,
A radio that no longer sings,
A board for playing darts.

We surrender to the market place.
We simply gather too much stuff.
Then ask 'where shall we put it? '
Of space - there's not enough

So every year, come spring time,
While flowers brightly bloom,
We label things 'unwanted'
Just to make some room.

Too soon there comes the summer,
With gifts on Christmas Day,
And all that space created,
Like chaff, is blown away.

So they huddle at the roadside,
‘Neath two ornamental trees,
On a cold October morning,
Spring cleaning refugees.