Scavenging,
Through trash bins,
Rubbish heaps,
Loitering beyond alley doors,
Waiting for “the good stuff”.
Jagged nails,
Through fingerless gloves,
Sort through treasures,
Maybe a doughnut,
Scrap of bread,
Half eaten burger,
A meal fit for a king.
Seen on steam grate mattresses,
Fetal curl for warmth;
Passersby arc wide birth
To avoid their touch.
Rain draws trash bag slickers,
Doorways, cardboard,
Rags for umbrellas,
Taxi’s thrown sludge sprays the invisible
With cities dirt and grim.
Will they be here tomorrow?
Will anyone notice their absence?
As their shopping cart sits idle
Ravaged by fellow unseen.
~
~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~
Dom DiFrancesco 
It really makes me wonder about shopping carts that look like they’ve been abandoned.
Me too. Occasionally I see them full of “stuff”, but no one appears to be around. Makes you wonder doesn’t it?
Sadly, it does make me wonder.
yes, I agree with Charles – this does make me wonder.
this is another beautifully written piece about a subject I wish you did not feel the need to write about – or ‘a subject’ to write about – period. your poetry gives these beautiful people a voice. i say beautiful because everyone is beautiful – we are all cut from the same cloth.
Thank you, I guess that was really the point of this “we are all cut from the same cloth.”. Very well put.