People Turn Their Heads


Bundled up in hand me downs

no rhyme or reason to her costume.
Red hair all in knots and snarls,
doesn’t remember when it last saw a brush.
Her body is too thin and lean,
she thinks of the diets she struggled with.
She pushes her Dollar Store cart, rescued
from the river.
Long gone are the BMW’s and Audi’s.

She falls asleep at sunset, where ever she
finds shelter, under the layers of dirty rags
she pushes in her cart.
She awakens with the sunrise.
She still smiles at the morning and
speaks to birds and squirrels.
She’s headed off to breakfast, fruit and veggies
rescued from the dumpster behind farm
market stalls.

She used to shop here every Saturday morning,
squeezing, sniffing, buying the freshest for
dinner parties she had scheduled.
No longer is she recognized,
people turn their faces.
Her husband lost his fortune,
put a bullet in his head.
Since the day she found him her life
has never been the same.
Alone and struggling to survive,
forgotten by people she referred to as friends.
She scavenges the city for survival
and people turn their heads.

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Poem copyright protected, and the property of Victoria Feathers, and not to be used without permission.


2 thoughts on “People Turn Their Heads

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