In the streets.
Hot asphalt any bad egg could fry on.
All fighting for their right
to daily, cheap, red meat.
A man with burning incense,
stuck in sidewalk cracks,
announces he is open for business,
selling shoes he mugged people for
the other night.
A young burn out smokes in the miasma of the alley
to avoid sharing with friends in the park.
A woman curses a puddle for simply
allowing it's self to be walked on.
A rogue justice, vigilante, gangster
grips security in their right jacket pocket.
A business man, working in sales since sixteen,
makes not vomiting- drunk on an empty stomach-
a high art.
A transgender elder faces the possibility
of a hate crime
with grit.

And me, another homeless body,
with all the curb appeal of
an out-dated, 10 inch TV-
and just like one:
(I could just vanish)
I could just vanish..