Who cares?

“You might be poor, your shoes might be broken, but your mind is a palace.”
― Frank McCourt, Angela’s Ashes

It haunts my memory

On his cardboard were two words:

“Who cares?”

 

He sat on the corner of the street

Where the Gucci store perches

Under its roof

Headless mannequins

In clothes that don’t care

 

Another man devoid of a home

Pushes his possessions in a cart

He yells: “Boo, poverty. Boo, get out of here.”

Us, feeling holy by the grace of work slavery,

Clear the sidewalk for him

 

Who cares if there are humans

Shunned

And abandoned to live

Outside of our homes

 

As long as my morning coffee is in my hand

And my soul continues to be sold for food and shelter

Who cares?

 

I am ashamed

Of taking my piece of this earth

And you tread the streets

Ambivalent

Where will you sleep tonight?

Curious, do you care?

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