If it were I, a hunkered mass
Of unkempt hair and tangled rags,
Lain prone beneath the underpass,
Enclaved in chattel bulked-out bags,

If it were I, alone, afraid,
Tight-bitten lips in silent prayer,
And listless eyes, all hope decayed,
And slumped, oppressed, done by despair,

And if you cast my shadowed shape,
Would you come seek my name?
Or look as I for quick escape,
And thence to bear my shame.