Of a Greater Connection


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.


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