shelter, protection,
temporary lodging for the homeless poor,
maybe the trees, the tarps,
the tents. perhaps the cops,
or not, or the courts.
maybe the plywood
or a sleeping bag, a rough mattress
on a rotting pallet,
the leftovers, waste,
no-longer-wanted, donated
in the end, he says, beggars can’t be choosers
Shopping carts and duffel bags,
the plyboard camp
spreads across the culvert out
into the woods—
“As a group, they are atomized. They
have no face; they have no voice....”
machine hum of a generator,
crow of a rooster, diesel growl
of eighteen-wheelers
speeding toward
the nearby warehouses
on a rusted-legged table,
old blankets and cotton
dress shirts, a pair of shorts,
dresses, sweaters, the unwanted,
refuse, waste, leavings, scraps
from closets emptied
before a move
used to live with my mother
until she died and I fell
into depression. I waitressed,
worked as a home health aide,
a cashier, cleaned houses,
sometimes the owners
would give me clothes,
a dress she didn’t wear,
something for my son.
at the bent-legged table,
donations picked through,
collected, kept,
rubbish, rubble
one person’s trash
is another’s treasure, she says
The Mexicans settle in tents
set back from the road, huddle
around a fire pit, keep
to themselves
La mayoría que viven aquí,
no tenían dónde vivir.
one says
Necessity, says the preacher,
translating,
they have nowhere else
They leave in the dark, 4 a.m.,
stand in the cold, muster in the lot
off Route 9, wait for work.
There are a lot who get picked for work,
a lot who don’t. They can’t pay rent,
so they take refuge where they can.
They are from Puebla, from Mexico City,
the northern desert. They
do dry wall and pour cement,
cut grass on massive
industrial mowers.
They walk the mile down Cedar Bridge,
in twos and threes, headlights
in their eyes, the sudden shine
so bright like the flashlights
of border agents they skipped past
when they crossed to America.
These poems are excerpts of a longer work focusing on the Tent City encampment in
Lakewood, New Jersey. It is a poetic exploration of homelessness and the fallout
of American corporate capitalism, constructed after a year of visits and interviews
with the people living in the encampment. I began working on the project in early
2012 with a photographer and filmmaker, with each of us pursuing parallel artistic
paths.
Several things inspired me to work on this project—a long-standing concern for
the poor that has been a staple in my work as a columnist and reporter; C. D.
Wright’s fabulous book, One Big Self, one of the truly great pieces
of American literature to have been produced so far this century; and the stark and
remarkable photos of Sherry Rubel. Sherry had been visiting and taking pictures at a
tent encampment in Lakewood for a couple of months, when I became aware of her project
through a short blurb on the local news website I was editing. Her pictures impressed
me and I immediately started writing. A month later I visited Tent City for the first
time with Sherry and a filmmaker friend Jack Ballo—and so was born the Tent City
Project, a collaboration on a single theme that has produced three distinct, but
overlapping works.
Jack’s film,
Destiny’s Bridge, tells the tale of Tent City, its battles with the
township of Lakewood, and the dreams of its leader to build a sustainable community to
house the homeless. Sherry’s photos—several of which are featured
here—show the humanity of Tent City’s residents, some of whom find themselves
in the woods as a last resort, while others are there by choice. As for my poem, I will
let the reader judge its merits. Our goal was to present the truth—not journalistically,
but artistically. The subject—the men and women pitching tents in the woods at the edge
of Lakewood’s downtown, a half-mile from its minor-league baseball stadium—are
too often invisible, and when they are not they are viewed with disdain. They are not alone.
There are hundreds of these encampments—some organized, some that come and go—and
they represent an essential truth about an American corporate capitalism that chews up
resources and spits them out, ignoring the human and environmental costs.
is a poet and journalist who has been writing about homelessness and poverty for several years.
His poetry has appeared recently in Exact Change Only, Exit 13, Middlesex, Spitball, U.S. 1
Worksheets, and 1/25, among other journals, and is forthcoming in the fall edition
of Main Street Rag. His chapbook, Certainties and Uncertainties, was issued by
Finishing Line Press in 2010.
Kalet runs the poetry series at the South Brunswick Library, is a contributing writer to NJ
Spotlight (where he covers economic issues), and has written for The Progressive
magazine and In These Times. His political column runs twice a month in The Progressive
Populist. He teaches journalism at Rutgers University and writing at Middlesex County College in
Edison, N.J.
www.kaletblog.wordpress.com