Dirty skeletons litter these streets

Dirty skeletons litter these streets.
They hold little cans
Hoping to make a living.
But they blend into the background
Unnoticed by those, like me,
That made seemingly right choices.
Darkened, empty, psychoactive eyes
Bore into the pockets and purses
Hungry for a bit of coin,
Hungry for a second chance.
Tremulous lips and trembling hands
Touching and praying
Hoping to be noticed.
Innocent eyes are now marred
By the cold reality of being Alone.
They are unseen,
They are unwanted,
They are left unloved.
A pitiful mess of bloating rags
Left to rot is fed upon,
Scavenged for scraps and coin.
On the streets no one notices,
No one sees, no one hears
The moaning, and the pleading
For a bus fare.
Such a simple thing is dismissed.
Is it so hard to squeeze from pride
A few drops of coin and time?

~Angus March 2010