Footsteps Echo Deep
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A homeless man shivers as the sun sinks,
while sleep tries to avoid dreams of freezing.
Steam from a sewer grate grants forty winks
as he lies on it, coughing and wheezing.
In his head, drums, the beat of passing feet:
it is almost impossible to sleep.
For that ubiquitous sound is the street,
where those pulsating footsteps echo deep.
Ignored and forgotten, he awaits Day,
as the rats of hunger gnaw at his guts.
And little by little, he wilts away;
while stinging remarks add salt to his cuts.
The morning finds his bedroll soaked in pee:
for had he gotten up, he might have died.
The night air was forty below, you see:
so he held it in, or at least, he tried.
Some shelters provide a warm place to go,
but he's viewed like an annoying splinter.
And that insensitivity is so
pervasive; he barely survives winter.
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2018
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