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5/25/2011 8:14:51 PM
We're All to Blame
||The child watches from his train station corner,
with dirty, tattered clothes that could be much warmer.
It's eyes bespeck years beyond me,
yet, I'm its age at least times three.
Cobwebs hang above its lice-filled head,
a cardboard box seems to be its bed.
Christian riders race past its place,
afraid that they may see its face.
I met its eyes as the train screeched to a halt,
but I wavered my nerve, was it my fault?
Was it a boy, a girl, or all one in the same?
I boarded the subway convinced we're all to blame.
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