The People Outside

the people outside

and what of those sinewed souls?
half carved out
half eaten
both alive and dead that
tap their fingers against my window
not in hopes of warmth
not in search of a cure
but in surrender to the frost
the bitter wind
and its invisible hands
shoving them against
suburban brick walls;
showing them discounted
Christmas dinners
and holidays to Tenerife
twice a year
freezing their blood
tearing their resolve
until it only takes a breeze
to make them fall
to the hands of another.
to the slumped and shrugged
shoulders
our lanterns signal virtue
but we know it will scorch them
all the same
be the hands kind or rough,
they pay no heed,
not anymore.