On the street, I lie;
Sprawled helpless, I open my eyes.
Around me, they shout as they cry;
Footsteps gather as movement, I try.
My vision still blurred, I blink and I blink;
Faces with tears that shiver and shriek.
Scorched and rough, the pavement I smell
Dank and dirty, I sweat as I swell.
What led me here, I can’t remember
But my mind tells me what I was over.
Scrambling, running;
Not looking back;
Crying, calling;
Not wanting to stop;
Howling, kneeling;
Falling face down.
The gun smoking;
Cocking about.
Writhing, begging;
Clutching my scrap.
Quivering, dying;
Hugging my scrap.
At that moment, I rose and rose;
High into oblivion, I faded in repose.
My bloody body left behind down below.
Limp and lifeless with the scrap in its tow.
For a moment, I thought I now know
What led me here: the hunger I show.
For what I have done,
I was gunned down.
I paid my dear life
For a scrap I was denied.
For those who have lost their lives on the streets while looking for something for a scrap to eat.
Read all of my COVID-19 poetry here.
Image by олег реутов from Pixabay