An apple from a poor prostitute
Whets a hunger more than
His destitute meager freedom
Implores for change.
On a thin weed patched concrete island
As cars pass by both ways in waves
Of assumptions of his past and presence.
Is scrawled on this mans’ cardboard.
From court back to prison,
A tinted windowed white van waited…
The shackled inmate wanted to give
His extra state lunch to the poor guy,
But he knew the C.O
Would say no.
It’d be absurd to assume
The C.O would get out in traffic,
Open the sliding door,
Unlock the cage,offer it over.
The light turned green.
On towards a hope that assuages,
Not forgetting what they’ve seen
Not helping enough of anything.