she sat, back to passers by,
just out of the pouring rain,
wet hair, feet too, both socks soaked,
through and through.
Her short blonde-dyed locks were more like a pointy sponge drying in the wind.
rearranging to find dry things to wear,
blue gauze dress dripping water too,
naked to her underwear, without a care,
she put on her polka dot pajamas,
that were meant for nights you played twister, with her.
But she was so alone. On concrete steel stairs at a mall
central to the city where being a street person is a
measured percentage of the population,
what frustration,
and with distrust she stared anyone down,
talked in an angry voice, to everybody around. But there was no one,
who would stop, three over stuffed bags of belongings
while swearing and tossing her
head, longing to be someplace warm,
away from harm. That got her to this point in time.
Her feet were covered, and maybe warmer,
she packed and repacked all that she had,
and she was mad, like angry,
and on concrete stairs, and on user beware, and on the bottom of the arc
of her life so far,
so far away from the dreams she had as a little girl,
so far away from the hopes that she now only copes,
from one breath to the next breath and smokes a cigarette in between.
Alone, she knows better not to despair, no one would care if she did.
©DWE012014
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 1:09 AM UTC
she sat, back to passers by,
just out of the pouring rain,
wet hair, feet too, both socks soaked,
through and through.
Her short blonde-dyed locks were more like a pointy sponge drying in the wind.
rearranging to find dry things to wear,
blue gauze dress dripping water too,
naked to her underwear, without a care,
she put on her polka dot pajamas,
that were meant for nights you played twister, with her.
But she was so alone. On concrete steel stairs at a mall
central to the city where being a street person is a
measured percentage of the population,
what frustration,
and with distrust she stared anyone down,
talked in an angry voice, to everybody around. But there was no one,
who would stop, three over stuffed bags of belongings
while swearing and tossing her
head, longing to be someplace warm,
away from harm. That got her to this point in time.
Her feet were covered, and maybe warmer,
she packed and repacked all that she had,
and she was mad, like angry,
and on concrete stairs, and on user beware, and on the bottom of the arc
of her life so far,
so far away from the dreams she had as a little girl,
so far away from the hopes that she now only copes,
from one breath to the next breath and smokes a cigarette in between.
Alone, she knows better not to despair, no one would care if she did.
©DWE012014
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