Crazies

Don’t feel much
               October in the air
Though now it’s
      Nearly half spent.
And I lean
      Up against faded white
            Wall of one
      Of many
Lining Lincoln Road
            Circle.
Smoke drips from my nose
            And drifts on up, and
      Out of sight-
            Sweet, soft and dull grey,
Swirls that permeate the sky
While penetrating
      Tears that shield my eyes.
There’s homeless all about,
            Some lying under benches,
      Others grazing asphalt pastures
In search of cigarette butts.
They look like modern lepers
      Imprisoned by too much freedom,
Flesh rotted by the sun
            And malnutrition.
One passes right before me,
            Reeking of cheap
Booze and stale urine.
      Stops to rummage through
            An ashcan, then proceeds
      Right on
Her way, squabbling with someone
            I can’t see.
It’s only just a moth,
            I realize.
      Damn thing! 
If only I
Could plunge her hypodermic
      Deep into its eye
So it could see
            Just what she means when
She says,
      “Let me be in peace,
                              won’t you?”