Street People

To sleep in the streets

in -- on cardboard boxes

wearing tattered clothing -- worn out shoes

yesterday's dirt groung in flesh

 

Let's no forget

teeth un-brushed -- uncombed hair

a bum -- subhuman -- garbage dweller

 

But when a street person dies

do their souls mingle egually

with you, with God?

Reviews

[Hotel Mornings]

The imagery is so sad. But you use it effectively. The ending packs on a serious question which really completes the poem. I really like the line: "a bum -- subhuman -- garbage dweller." I love the way you detach "bums" from humans by a notch with every description. nice.