Tuesday, January 28, 2025

Unhoused in NYC

 1.

Steam vents warm the night—
cardboard kingdoms on Broadway,
still, a man dreams home.

2.
Rain leaks through the grate,
a sleeping bag pulls tighter—
the sky does not care.

3.
Midnight on the 6,
two bags, one broken sandal—
this train never ends.

4.
Plastic bottle hums,
coins inside like loose prayers—
hope makes its own sound.

5.
Park bench, early light.
A cop walks by without words—
we both know the script.

6.
No room at the inn,
just intake forms and cold chairs—
names get lost in line.

7.
Trash bags as blankets,
he folds his coat like a child—
still tucks himself in.

8.
Library is full.
Not books, but quiet bodies
who just need silence.

9.
A sign reads: Need Help.
Most walk past like it’s a tree—
there, but not alive.

10.
Shoes tied with wire string,
still walking, still not broken—
concrete forgives none.

11.
In Tompkins at dusk,
a woman hums to herself—
the pigeons stay close.

12.
Steam curls from a cup
given by a stranger's hand—
kindness is heat too.

13.
Old Veterans Day—
a man salutes no one now,
flag stitched on his coat.

14.
Shower once a week,
in a church with yellow tiles—
some water still heals.

15.
Outside Bloomingdale’s,
he watches suits pass him by—
he once sold them too.

16.
Snow on cardboard roofs,
it melts slower than pity—
but it still melts down.

17.
Phone booths hold stories
long after the lines went dead—
one man sleeps inside.

18.
A dog in his lap,
ribs showing through both their shirts—
they keep each other.

19.
Soup lines stretch at six.
He knows each server by name—
some names bring comfort.

20.
City lights don’t warm.
But they give the dark a shape—
and he walks through it.

21.
A shopping cart hums
with everything she still owns—
the wheels still squeak hope.

22.
Shelter won’t take him—
too many rules, too much noise—
freedom has a cost.

23.
He talks to the air.
But who else listens this long?
The air talks back, too.

24.
We cross the same street.
One of us has keys, the other
knows more than he says.

25.
The city forgets.
But not the man on the grate—
he remembers all.

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