Busy streets filled with anxious people
Wanting money
Needing food
And you are the "lucky customer"
Shift your eyes to the ground
To avoid the crying children
With empty cups in their unwashed hands
The stench of poverty overcomes you
You put yourself in slow motion
Dying to get out
But wishing you could help
The rickity houses built of cardboard
And trash bags
Scrap pieces of tin
You walk on
A blind man reaches out to the sound of your steps
Crowds follow you
Till the guard pushes them back
And you return to the luxury of your safe hotel
Safe from reality
That pounds the outside walls
2000,Katrina Rose