Little Trash Pickers
The soul stops and bleeds a little.
Somehow it had thought that those faces had stayed behind
No that is ok they stayed
It’s just less painful, less real
If they stayed behind.
I have no headphones on for once
Tonight I’m quite certain I want no sound at all
And then I hear it, the sound, that is
The diligent sound of tiny hands
Picking cans from a the city’s trash.
She looks at me in shame, the little one
He speeds up and confronts my look.
My heart stops and cries a little.
I am covered in the shame of this world
That brought them here only to leave them in the darkest of alleys.
He’s six she’s five
I want to hug them but can’t, I want to hold them and tell them stories that would most likely not make any sense.
Who cares about trapped princesses and dragons of a far, far away land when the only thing dancing in a tiny stomach is a beef empanada the lady with the teary eyes just bought you?
My soul stops and bleeds a little.