On the Street

I see them passing each day in the street,

Briefcases in hand, and cups of coffee.

They’re all going somewhere, hurrying by.

Rarely do they notice me sitting here.

I wonder sometimes where it is they go.

A corner office with a view, perhaps?

A cubicle in the corporate machine?

A dead-end job? Or burgeoning career?

How on earth could I possibly compete

With their smart phones and Bluetooth and the metro?

I’m only human and hungry, that’s all.

Do they even see me? I disappear.

All I wanted was something hot to eat,

Maybe a blanket to keep out the cold.