Yes here I am!
I know you can see me.
How else will you get into the coffee shop?
You’ll have to step over me.
A lump or a mound of garbage,
To you that is what I appear to be.
I know that’s how little I am to you.
I know that’s why you step over me.
I am in fact treated like garbage.
Thrown out and unwanted, even in public space.
But what is one to do
when they have no home, job, or place?
My rags are an eye sore,
I’m no fool you see.
There was a time when I to
would have been the one to step over me.