You can’t help but see them,
All over and under gotham’s off ramps in cardboard camps,
Lit by blazing 55 gallon drums
After being cut off just short of
The boulevard of dreams
We hope they won’t approach,
Cross the street, and come closer
Because they scare us
As they ask for spare change with an “attitude”.
Lost, floor length tattered cloth coats,
Watch capped, plastic bag wrapped,
People like us,
Dream like us,
Faces like us,
Families like us,
Souls like us,
With Styrofoam cups,
Mumbling pure hurt
Bent visages twisting in fear
As they wander wondering how the hell they got there
Freezing or sweltering in bitter circumstance, relentless in its oppression
Ellisons dematerialized, faceless invisibility
Broadened to include
Legions, all colored poor, homeless
Odds, chance “luck of the draw”, kismet, destiny
As they stagger and fall
To be broken some more
Stepping right over them, never breaking stride
On our way home
Anthony Vigorito
C 1/7/03
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