From the inside of a gold framed bakery
watching the hallowed others dredge by
this double plated window,
or prevention- of the violent acts-
made out of fear- not hatred-
but a need to move away from oil stained streets-
where tinned food trucks
sell rotting bananas and beef dogs
to privileged pregnant women with painted faces.
The service workers behind bakery counters.
That blind man screaming scripture to deaf ears
-at the corner of Market & 15th St.
Wounded veterans holding crumpled Starbucks stenched cups
begging for “change”.
The clothed and scarfed people
with buds plugging their ears
march dutifully to their jobs,
or markets selling produce to those—
who can afford nutrition.
In this bumbling City of Brotherly Love,
siblings tightly clench their eyelids
and hide in coffee shops
tapping away at expensive computers.
Clutching their herbed teas trying to forget,
That hunched figure,
across the street,
between lumps of snow & garbage