There's a young woman on the street corner.
Her face is dark and weather-beaten.
Her eyes, like slits burn into you.
Everyday she wages war.
She clasps a thin green blanket to her,
Gathering the torn cloth around her
To protect from the harsh winds.
She has no shoes on her feet merely
Cuts and bruises from the pavement that she sleeps on,
It belongs to the wealthy.
An empty packet of sushi,
She sits outside the pizza place,
Watches the business men walk by with their
Freshly ironed suits and shiny black briefcases.
They do not look at her as they walk by,
They just hold their heads up
And continue on their busy way,
Ready to go out and earn a ton
For sitting in an office all day and arguing with the phone.
On their return, again,
Walking past the woman,
They do not even give her a glance
They've done their work for the day.
Fed and clothed their own family,
Why should they care?
There's a young woman on the street corner,
Late at night she hides
In the dark alleyway to keep away from
Prying eyes and horrific images,
Drunken men cursing their lives.
There's a young woman on the street corner,
Her face is dark and weather-beaten
Her eyes, like slits burn into you.
Everyday she wages war.
