Email Poem

Your IP Address: 3.145.51.214
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
Someone saw me digging through the trash this morning
And gave me five bucks
The embarrassed gin-mace of the nursing home volunteer
Plastered to his face 
For the three seconds I could see it 
Before he looked away

Everyone is more human than you'd imagine in these streets

So I bought two Blacks and a Hershey's Milk Chocolate bar
And I watched the candy wrapper blow into the drainage ditch
And I picked up a lighter someone had dropped on the ground
One those cheap, translucent ones that will melt 
If you keep the flame burning too long
And I made my way back to the place where I sleep

Everyone is more human than you'd imagine in these streets

At the intersection, I run into Mike
Flying the, "Hungry" sign that I'd watched him make
With some recycled cardboard and a jumbo Sharpie
On the floor of my abandoned-building living room
Because he was hungry
And KFC hadn't thrown away anything edible in days

Everyone is more human than you'd imagine in these streets

Wiping my fingers of my snack's melted remains onto the cutoff denim
That I've been wearing for six days
I round the corner and see J trying to shake off the cops
That have him pinned against the security fence around our camp
Ryan tells me he has a warrant and an eight-ball of speed in his pocket
Sucks, he was supposed to see his daughters tomorrow

Everyone is more human than you'd imagine in these streets

When it's safe, I slip into my sparsely insulated corner of a Texas July
Sweating from the core-heat I've trapped against a discarded mattress
And remembering that I used to look at us
The way Five-Dollar-Dude looked at me this morning
Before I learned the hard way that we're just seeking some of the comfort
Enjoyed by the very condo-dwellers who frustrate our ability to obtain it

Everyone is more human than you'd imagine in these streets

And I'm not saying everyone out here is a saint
But I am saying if you need a dollar or a cigarette
You've got better odds asking someone camping under the overpass
Than someone with one hand on the door of their Lexus
And the other one smoking a Marlboro Red
And I think when you don't have anything, that Marlboro can tell you a lot

Original Poem: poetrysoupdotcomslashpoemslash51stunderscorestreetunderscore1599123
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required