INNER CITY STORIES
Winter’s breath against her face,
She fiddles with an old shoelace.
Yet bright-eyed she waits
The cold bites like rattlesnakes,
She stands and she shakes.
Breathing in the snowflakes.
Her head aches,
Her hands shake.
No one brakes.
With each evade her heart breaks,
Her legs deflate,
She sits and waits,
Still she waits on the curb-face.
Her eyelids are weights,
The gray air matches her pale face.
Yet she still waits and she waits,
Wishing she had at least a small plate.
Tears smash the gray slate.
She thinks her head will detonate.
She rubs her hands so blood will circulate.
She needs an escape.
She tries to concentrate.
She no longer holds her sign,
Instead she twists her shoelace.
Diminished by the cold and hate.
Hope was nothing but a mistake.