Dedicated to All the Poor Children of The World <br /> <br />I saw my old friend Cal today, on the eve before Santa night <br />He was eight years old and going on more, without his dad in sight. <br />Dad was in the big bad house, for bootin some snowwhite leaf. <br />Mickey J lived with Mama Jo, in the houses full of grief. <br /> <br />We went to the door with bags in hand, everyone stared a bit. <br />They didn’t normally see our kind, without the daylight lit. <br />We knocked and waited a minute or two, then the door drug open some. <br />It was Mickey J and Mama Jo, they knew just why we’d come. <br /> <br />We wished them a happy Ho Ho Ho, and filled their little place. <br />Mickey didn’t say very much at first, he clung to Mama’s embrace. <br />I wondered if that was what he was like, even without us there. <br />I wondered what having no Dad had done, to this nothing-for-angel heir. <br /> <br />The mood of the minute soon was turned, when Mickey spied his name <br />On the package I pulled from the special bag, that carried his namesakes’ fame. <br />Shoes they were for Mickey no less, Jordans from last year’s run. <br />He jumped and screamed and carried on, like I’ve never seen it done. <br /> <br />After a while and with Mama’s say, he gave us a hug real tight. <br />It felt so good for a second or two, but then my heart took flight. <br />I thought of what a difference there was, tomorrow I’d be with mine. <br />But Mickey would spend the Santa day, with only that letter line. <br /> <br />You see we brought with us that night, a letter from Mickey’s dad. <br />He’d written it several weeks before, from his ten by ten square pad. <br />I watched as Mama read the piece, and Mick gave his grin a try <br />But then that same old question came, why oh why oh why?<br /><br />A. P. Hancock<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/why-oh-why-oh-why-poverty/
