You are never missed
At the corner of 15th and Tuazon
You sit
In your makeshift bed
Your dining room
Your lounge
Of cardboard
How you make it to our street
I would never know
To sell Mama those umbrellas
Trashed
Left for nothing
Yet she gets them for you
Like new
What do you have for dinner?
Is it scraps of someone else's feast?
Is it the gift of tin you savor?
Is it the sheer happiness you get
From the reveling
In the nothingness
This world offers?
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