You see what you expected to see,
And now a man is dead.
I found him by the alley-side,
Waiting to be fed.
He reached up to grasp my hand,
Fragile, he did fall.
I looked at Mother who looked wrongfully mad,
And against her judgment, I made the call,
To which my hand cradled his,
Because he was of man,
And I, woman.
People ask me why I help people of their kind,
And I stare at them, confused.
Of which “kind” I am entirely blind,
Because to me I can’t see how one’s wealth and privilege makes them utterly excused,
From helping those less fortunate than me.