The Drive Into Reality

I find it hard to drive through the city sometimes.
In the heat of an afternoon scorcher,
the sun turns fading shadows into old men,
searching despairingly for something to do. 

To be hungry.
To be lonely.
To be without.

In sweat stained clothing, scavenge garbage bins
of yesterdays entrees. Bent.  Without pride.

Do not stare into my eyes pleading?  Bleeding? 
I turn away in total humiliation of I.

Young mothers in full bloom line the steps
of the giant tenemants that serve as castles
for families of this class.

Cling tight their sleeping babes that grow like weeds
between the ancient cracks of broken concrete.

Hold tight to your dreams, for repression blinds
and angers souls of the young and beautiful.