This poem comes from an actual occurrence that happened years ago. The memory is so vivid as is the question that still haunts me.


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    From the window


    of my car


    I see dusk fall.


    Down a side street


    walks a crumpled man


    with a small girl


    on his shoulders.


    Her hair catches


    the scattering sunlight.


    Are they headed home


    to a crumbling apartment


    in the distant rundown neighborhood?


    I turn away.


    To my right,


    glass sky scrapers


    scrape the sky.


    Wealth and poverty


    side by side.


    There is not enough


    and never enough.


    I continue down the free way,


    haunted by the small girl


    with the shining hair.


    What will become of her?