Watching a Homeless Woman
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Written April, 2009, revised here.
She’s like a monkey in the morning,
searching through her fleas.
She’s got molding mashed potatoes
where others keep their keys.
Her cloths are an invitation to
voice a mother’s sense of dread
“That’s what you’re gonna look like son
if you wear your cloths to bed.”
Her shopping cart is over flowing
from items she hasn’t bought
as she whines her way
past other slaves
of the City of New York.
She's lost her taste for liquor,
forgotten loving sex,
eats at the rescue mission and sings
in that choir when she gets picked.
Her face is a chubby cluster
of blackened cherry cobbler cheeks.
bruised by sun and wind and
horny, discourteous souls
who have taken what she could keep.
Then she takes a nap, takes a crap
on the City of New York.
Copyright © John Ozemko | Year Posted 2023
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