Urchins

From far and near, another day starts
for the street urchins in the jungle of a city
as pedestrians rush by, coffee in hand,
on the fly, their thoughts to themselves:

"I better not miss my meeting today,
or I'll get the sack for sure!"

"How can kids lay about like trash,
when I work my ass off all day?"

"What gives my wife the right to tell me what to do,
when I'M the one paying all the bills!"

"It would serve him right if I left,
and took the children with me!"

"I'm sick and tired of living this way;
it's the same thing everyday!"

"I make more money than I did last year,
so why am I so unhappy?"

"I wish I was one of THEM—
 smoking pot, living without a care."

"I'm single, no kids,
so what have I got to lose?!"

So onward they race,
paying no heed, looking,
yet having no need
to see the small groups
that huddle near alleyways
and street corners,
with their quirky looks,
and over-the-edge hair.

"Hey man, I know I shouldn't care, 
but I can't help feeling sorry."

"For what? Oh, the worker bees?  
Yeah, i feel you.
Where did it get my folks, right?"

"Exactly.  But it's cool, cause some do,
you know, the right thing in time."

"Do you miss them?"

"Who, my folks?  Sometimes I do,
when there's nothing else on my mind."

They don't stare at you
the same way you do at them,
but they see you and smile,
because, for all the grime that
surrounds their day and night,
living on the razor's edge,
these youth with a pureness that shines
from off the sidewalks & curbs,
and up from the grating,
seem to understand
and make you feel them
while you stand within range,
nervous and waiting
for the signal, as you fumble
in a coat pocket for change.