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Homeless



They are lying there now
Wrapped in gray army surplus blankets
Snuggled on the cement next to each other.
One is sitting up, smoking.

I see a bag of food someone has left for them
Unopened.
Saving it for dinner.

Soft-filled trashbags
Are their couches.
We are walking
In their living room.

Every day I rush by
On my way to warmth and productivity.
Each time I pass they're still there
Living in a windowless world

I think I see their life
But I'm not sure
For with vision
Does not come seeing

 
Or understanding.

--December 13, 2001

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