The Correctional Officer

She never asks can I help you she only asks why
You have to sleep rough under the open sky
Fifteen years and homeless that does not seem right
That you are on the street at this time of the night.

As a correctional's officer my job is to judge
And from me you will not get a wink or a nudge
For to be a good person you are not trying your best
You are breaking the law you are under arrest.

One in her mid fifties with a judgemental stare
For the poor and the homeless she pretends to care
And though some of big brother's disciples her praises may sing
Her job to her does seem more of a power thing.

The correctional's officer accosts the homeless boy of the street
And takes him to the police station the police sergeant to meet
And by a judge he is sent to a correctional centre for to serve some time
Though not to have a home to go to should not be a crime.