Good Morning, America

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Good Morning, America (2005)

wake early

that is the time

to see

the other America . . .


the young men

picking through garbage

collecting cans

bagging bottles

for refund money


and

the old women

talking to invisible companions

piss-stained pants

swollen feet

in torn slippers


the old men

shuffling to empty benches

bottles in brown bags

sleeping deeply

in warm sunshine


discarded butts

on scuffed sidewalks


the wheelchair people

the lame

the lost


supermarket trolleys

on the move

at dawn


from the cops

from the stares

from the other people

from the other America.

This poem was prompted by time in Sacramento, California. See this travel story.

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