Windows In The Rain

I took the exit ramp
and rolled my power windows closed
before the squeegee people came.
Held up my hand to show
that I was trying to say no
and protect my pocket change.
It's such a petty thing.
I guess it makes you angry
so that you don't have to feel the strain
of knowing you've got someplace warm to go
while they'll be sleeping out again
and rise tomorrow
to go and wash some windows in the rain.

It's fun to plot the fall
of the existing way of things
from your parents' cozy place
and talk of evolution
spiritual transcendence
or a sudden mass migration into space.
But how does that apply to someone
who has to work a street corner for change?
To him, you're just another well-to-do
with a vague, guilty liberal strain
who'll never have to go and wash some windows in the rain.

There are SO many now
sleeping in cardboard on the street
in this rich and prosperous land.
It is another world
and it would be insulting
even to pretend I understand.
Big money changes hands over their heads
in office towers with weighty names.
But somehow, nothing falls to those below
so on the sidewalks they remain
to beg or steal or
go and wash some windows in the rain.


copyright by Colin Halyk, 2000

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