The Designated Street
Three street corners in a row,
someone stood outside asking for money,
holding up signs that I did not attempt
reading as I drove by,
concentrating with the duty on hand.
Yes, they wanted money,
and yes, I wanted to keep mine.
It was a stalemate, with no money changing hands,
and I wondered what brought them all to the same street?
Was it close to where they lived,
within walking distance,
or was it an ideal location as the
traffic came off the ramp
from the Interstate as I had just done?
Once again, no contact was made,
just strangers passing by with
no welcoming guests to line their pockets,
a part of the process, an unwanted result,
happening more often than what they preferred,
knowing that all would not help fund their cause.