Ecomic recovery

 

You see them standing on the street
trembling slightly,
back to the wall,
70 or 80 years old
hand just a little bit stretched out
palm facing the sky like a little bowl
for water
lines that go from side to side of their face

you see them on the street
more and more each time
and it’s not easy unless you walk with your eyes open
because they hardly make any noise
and they look like rice paper
they stand still
on their feet
in grey corners
looking at you as you pass by
with their wet-white eyes
soft skin
faded voice
fatigued
asking for 50 cents

you see them
more an more each time
and you bite your tongue not to cry because you are not a sentimental prick
and don’t want to share no tears with anyone,

you hand them whatever is in your pocket
your fists tighten in anger inside

while you think about hanging and burning

all the fuckers that tell you everything is going alright