Ghosts

You feel them more that see them They inhabit the great divide Trapped in a parallel nightmare  Of lost dreams and being unemployed.  They eat in highway rest stops Where food is fast and hot Then hurriedly wash in bathroom sinks Ashamed of being caught.  At night they sleep on our beaches Wrapped in ragged dirty shrouds But they vaporize in the morning Unseen by vacationing crowds These people are our neighbors Regardless of address Yet they walk unseen among us In exiled loneliness  Where do they fit in our system In this land of the brave and the free Walking ghosts in tattered coats They belong to you and me.  That means you and me the people They are our sisters and our brothers I read somewhere in an ancient  book Do unto me as you would to others.