Watch My Cart
by Mary Rudge (United States)
It is my home.
In it is everything I own.
I have no one to turn to,
I need something to return to,
It’s my cart.
On the sidewalk I’m alone
I sleep beside it,
care for what’s inside it.
Nothing a thief would choose, I’m sure
yet I’m more at ease to know that it’s secure
the least thing has value to one who is poor:
dented cans,
a pair of socks — torn,
a paper with my name
that proves that I was born,
a tattered sweater, very worn,
a blanket, for those cold times
a plastic cup to hold for dimes
No place to stay, no place to sleep,
all I own is in a cart, so little to keep.
Thousands homeless in Alameda County
I walk so very far, so very tired
Tens of thousands homeless in California
not ever a job for which I can be hired —
Millions homeless in the nation
Millions more jobless in the nation
so very ill
too serious for the free clinic —
The center director said, “He can’t die here,
call the paramedics they will …”
(He pleads, I cannot pay a hospital bill)
Statistics show millions of children
without health care in the US
Millions of families without
health care
“Take him to emergency”
concerned we asked him, “What else can we do?
Anyone we can call?
Anyone at all to know about you?”
He bowed his head
and thought it through,
pondering, wondering,
and said,
“No one — my cart, is all I’ve got
what’s inside is not a lot,
but will you
Watch my cart?”
That night in my dreams
The shopping carts came,
each one had a spirit that moved it on,
all night through space,
each city, the nation,
they took on a strange configuration,
of dance until dawn —
A gigantic Queen of Carts
with tin can jewels, and newspaper cape,
and a salvage-stuff crown
led each cart to take their new shape,
the carts became the personas of the poor
rolled from all across the country —
through the White House door —
of the people, by the people,
for the people
Give me your
tired, your poor …
The wretched refuse
cast off from your shore
The lost, the tempest-tossed
to sign new orders into law
granting homes for all as legal right
with a guaranteed income, for whatever they could do,
musicians, dancers, artists, writers too,
people cleaning up the
streets and beaches,
washing all the windows
so the sun shines through
and designers made fantastic materials
making comfortable homes and the
man returned from the hospital to see
his shopping cart by his own front door,
a joyful sight —
I awoke in this light!
Oh the wheels of the shopping carts
roll and roam,
only to the stores to bring groceries home,
oh the cans inside, full of nourishing food,
and everyone home in a good neighborhood.
And the world is good.
Made right by the creator’s art
to answer the pleas of the poor
who could only turn to strangers like
me and you
to ask please
watch my cart.
[This poem was first read at a commemoration of October 17th, the World Day for Overcoming Poverty at the St. Mary’s Center in Oakland. It was then published in The Street Spirit, a publication of the American Friends Service Committee]
