inanimate as statues
passive as early morning rolls
over their stake of sidewalk
even the cement impregnated with
their rank odour of crusted neglect
no hint of wonder, of surprise
in the dilated, listless eyes
theirs is a community
of misery, sickness and
premature death
halting breaths are
punctured, penetrated, punctuated
by the loveless strokes
of commercial sex
and the needle’s plunge
to momentary ecstasy
the clinkety buggy wheel rumble
of the scavenger offroad convoy
is survival’s symphony
in a muted key
a chorus of solitary echos
they are us
we are them
in our separateness
through choice, circumstance, misfortune
we are them
they are us
in our impregnable worlds
where is the love
