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  

without any hope,

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 to 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,

all I see

staring back at me

are vacant

almost lifeless eyes

and now

I know that I too 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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