The Woman On Waverly Street
Clink, clink, clink,
She shakes her paper cup.
Please, please, please,
Won’t you fill it up?
Have you ever noticed the woman on Waverly Street?
With shoes too big, barely clinging to her little feet.
Holes in the soles, toes gnarled and cold.
Kisses to the wind and delicate words she speaks.
With a wave and a smile to all she greets.
Her ragged pink scarf, dangling from her neck.
Her knees a mismatched shape, bruised and upset.
Gives her a peculiar pep in her step.
Clink, clink, clink
The coins in her cup.
Have you ever thought to fill it up?
Beep, beep, beep
The sound of the machines.
There she lies in her hospital bed.
A checkered blue blanket tucks her in.
Beep, beep, beep
The sound of the machines.
A moment of silence.
No more clink.
No more beeping is heard.
Gone is the woman with the brown paper cup.
Who stood on Waverly Street, waiting for someone to fill it up.
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