Below the Golden Arches of the McDs on 7th Street
pall-bearer policemen shoot the breeze over the body.
Their arms are crossed. It’s a damned cold night.
Women in tasteful jewelry cross the street & head to the whiskey bar.
busying themselves with their purses and their laughter
when they pass by the police tape and the homeless woman.
In the pew of her wheelchair, Bridgette Rose Meyers
ignores the eulogy of the silent ambulance when it drives away.
A cigarette perched between her lips, she opens wide
The newspaper and reads yesterday’s news.
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