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Vancouver Streets


As I stand alone
in the falling rain,
the traffic lights
blink out their warning,
on the corners
of Hastings and Main.

I wait for them
to change,
before I begin
to once more walk,
the bitter streets
of Vancouver’s east side.

I look deep, deep
into vacant,
almost lifeless eyes.
Eyes empty of hope.
Eyes empty of pride.
Eyes whose last tears
have long been dried.

I feel no surging
of some kind tide.
no rising
of any humanity,
as vacant, empty
broken windows
stare back in apathy
at me.

I watch in a
listless manner,
the well dressed,
well-fed people
as they scurry by.

Noses are held high
as they pass
the piece of refuse
that has just died.
After all
it is only
another junky,
with a monkey
on their back.

Another lost soul
that has slipped
through the cracks.
Skinny arms
pockmarked deep
with years of needle tracks
like limp noodles
stretching out
in the heat,
of the unforgiving street.

Young girls
in mini skirts
do their tricks,
trying to earn
another quick fix.
A heroin overdose
their final prize.
Oh how they giggle
as their last breath fades.
Oh how they smile
as light flickers out
of their bloodshot eyes.

It is too their
everlasting shame,
that humanity
must bare
some of the blame,
that the uncaring streets
have become home
to the homeless,
to the unwashed,
to the needy.

Perhaps if they
had only been
a little less greedy,
had of cared
Had of shared
the bounty
from their table.
If they only
had of tried,
perhaps no one
would have ever died.

As I stare into
the mirrors
of mildewed brass,
of broken dusty glass,
I know
that I am
of this human mass,
that must forever
live in defeat,
That will live
and also die
all alone,
on these bitter
Vancouver streets.

The traffic lights
still blink out their warning
on the corners
of Hastings and Main,
and I open
my broken umbrella,
and try to stay dry
from the falling rain.

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