A Poem on the Website of
the Red Dirt Writers Society

Home
by Joan Hagy (Mar 2013)

Believe it not, Dorothy was wrong.

When home is an alley tucked behind the corner mart,
A ten year old car, or a shelter shared with 50

Strangers who might never be cozy,

There are other places you might rather be.

Your heels click because the sole is wearing through

And those shoes do not take you anywhere

You really want to be,

Except long lines and public restrooms.

Cowards and heartless characters fill you

With hopeless hope and hollow dreams

Of home and food and school

And yellow brick roads to nowhere.