A Woman’s Dirty Hair
An old car
Moves slowly
Through cold rain;
A modern city
Grows ancient
In the sad fog
Of urban despair.
A woman’s dirty hair
Is pulled
By an oily hand
In a rat-infested
Motel room.
God ignores suffering
But also kindly turns his head
To the indiscriminate sex
That helps the hopeless
Alleviate poverty-born
Unrelenting stress.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
No comments until now.