Poem: Clemency

Clemency

Hunched along the gum-flecked sidewalks
that shine like mica, they smell like tobacco
and exhaust from municipal buses,
faces haggard for a little clemency
turned away, whether in shame or loss
of faith as men and women walk by.
Almost a part of the graffiti behind them
melted into the wall, curious and implacable;
only children turn heads. Larger hands
and feet shuffle them away. When
they get here, their most overt possession
is their dignity; they know what sandwich
they want, won't settle for another,
and request the corner pocket bed in the back
where they can draw curtains and sleep.