Under the bridge is where I live
Where the sounds of heavy cars
Move over and inside my head
Invasive and still startling me
Though I should feel numb and unaware by now
I am jealous yet undaunted by
The truth from the sound they make
As they drive over my home
Oblivious to me and my privacy
I feel harder than the cars, and I am as soft as the sound of wondering
Where they all go.
I feel reduced to an animal
That smells only fear and hate and cold
No eye that I meet is kind
And they stare from their cars at me as I walk by now
I am a street side museum artifact to them
They study me like a fossil
And I feel as old as a dinosaur
That has no place in this city
As the light changes, they leave me behind like exhaust from their
cars
But the light offers no relief
Only bringing more cruel cars to watch me
I am wanting to get back home under my bridge
Away from the eyes
That don't forgive poverty.
Copyright 2001 by Lyssa Aja