In my heart I was glad, but the city preys at night,
So I was walking angry, looking angry,
Seeming mean past Ben Franklin’s darkened grave,
Past his mint too toward my hotel
When across the street I saw
A bus shelter sheltering someone,
Heaped defensively under dirty blankets,
Sleeping buried trying to stay warm,
I couldn’t see anything about the stranger,
Except that they too didn’t want to be disturbed,
And that they weren’t a bus.
We have bus shelters on every other corner.
Maybe we need more people shelters too.
Laugh at me.