I see a woman standing at the traffic light
Even in her shabbiness, she’s neat and clean
She stands on the wayside wondering 
For the hundredth time what she is doing on the street.
People look at her from their car windows
A nonchalant glance up and then away
Their psycho-social barriers
Comfortingly coming down to save their day
From unpleasant pangs of conscience 
As they niggle at the edges of their minds
The world is troubled, their impact small
Sometimes it’s just better to be blind.

She looks at the faces in the cars
Indifferent, unseeing; wishing her away 
She clutches the hem of her tattered shirt
Picks up the gumption to still walk their way
She looks at a lady who hasn’t averted her eyes
The shame is too much and she swallows hard
Even so, she manages a faint little smile 
Hoping for kindness, compassion, regard
The lady looks up, seeing her for the first time
She’s irritated, she’s irked for letting her guard down
Beggars, pleaders of various requests 
Destroy her peace of mind, she frowns.

She waves a dismissive hand at the sight
And looks away, she will not lock eyes
Maybe the beggar will go to the next car
With her chafing, imploring enterprise 
The woman feels the withering blow
As she hurriedly backs away from the car
The wounds in her heart are bleeding anew
Everyday there are fewer healing scars 
She stumbles back onto the foot path 
Eyes stinging with hopelessness and fatigue 
This world seems done with the likes of her
She too is done with her destiny.