On weekdays, I
board the bus or
ride the train
just one in a shifting sea of thousands
washing up against the shore of necessity
working to provide
food
clothes
shelter
toys
In every vehicle
on every road and track
they sleep
eyes closed against the harsh realities of morning
sun blinding bright
dew soaked and new
headphones
to block thought
sunglasses
hide souls
windows tint away
the poverty of the streets
poor in
food
clothes
shelter
respect
The sun is bright in the morning.
It hurts sometimes to see.
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