Strange Poem by Ryan Brodesser

A man, wrinkled and old
Was sitting on a corner, begging by the grange
Wrapped in threadbare blanket shivering in the cold
Isn’t that strange?

The man had fought in three tours in Iraq
The man had fought for a change
Yet here he was, sitting on the freeway block
Isn’t that strange?

The man worked hard and bleed
When he worked the soil on a range
just trying to make, ends meet, just earning his bread
Isn’t that strange?

The man had honored his country, staying by his flag and paid his fair share of tax
He had seen friends pass and good folk go on and politics mix and interchange
Now, a new time has come, and he is too hurt to work and gets the axe
Warrior, worker american man, isn’t that strange?