Monday, October 4, 2010

You never know with the poor

Poem by Marc Aupiais

Something to tell you love,
Something quite grave,
I'm not ashamed of it love,
Even if it caused a grave,

You never know with the poor,
Perhaps they'd have a grave.

When I stop at a robot,
What you call a traffic light.
I stop a few metres back-
To avoid accidents and the poor!

They tried to take my car by force,
I've never cared to help since!

And every day my morning route,
Takes me past a madman.
He thinks he not the robots controls the traffic,
He almost dances,
And speaks to demons past!

The government dumped the madmen on the streets,
Let their families throw them out like meat.

And one day he lay in the street!
An epileptic fit,
Collapsed in my path.
I adjusted my steering wheel and drove on by.

You never know with the poor!

And perhaps my imagination,
A false guilt memory,
Or a dream,
Of guilt not mine,

I imagine later I saw a man,
Lying in the road,
On the other side,
Perhaps the madman or another,
You never know with the poor!

A knife wound in his stomach,
I drove on by!
And I know I would real or not!

You never know with the poor my love,

And looking at them causes pain!

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