The Gutter

A societal issue.

Grub along each gutter,
pennies tight in fist.
Cigarette butts half smoked,
how did it come to this?

Peel through life’s trash left,
discarded without thought.
Maybe a treasure here,
or the scrounge will be for naught.

Bread and milk to buy,
a nickel here and there.
The search goes on and on and on,
while people stop and stare.

Beneath a full moon laid to rest,
in a velvet bed of stars.
Hung above a bus stop sign,
outside a string of bars.

The weary walk this earth, my friend,
the tragedy is all around.
Take the moment to check ourselves,
or in this gutter we be found.

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