It was a cold night, that Christmas Eve.
Freezing in fact.
Grand Central’s hard wooden benches would not entice many,
But to the old woman, Mama Doe, it was
as close to the Ritz as she could get.

How long she had been out on the streets? Who knew?
She was old, sick and living on the margins.
The officer who moved her along
From the Grand Central waiting room
was, no doubt, just following orders.

It was a cold night, that Christmas Eve.
Freezing in fact.
Mama Doe’s Lungs were filled with fluids.
Perhaps she could have been saved.
Perhaps, if only she wore silks and furs instead of rags.
She made it as far as morning.
She crawled to her final resting place,
Bench number nine at Grand Central Station.

A little while later another officer came along
He rattled Mama doe’s favorite bench with his night stick
It was just a friendly wake up call by the standards of the day.

Mama Doe did not wake up, nor would she, until,
perhaps, the day when Gabriel blows his horn.