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THE STRANGER

He lies in the street, dying.
A gunshot to the heart, fatal.
A stranger, lying there, crying out for help
No one stops, no one cares.
On their busy way home, no one has room
In their heart for the youth, who lies dying
On the cold street corner
Staining the snow red with blood.
People hurry back to their homes
Where they can sit
Close to the fire with their family
There, they can forget the boy
Dying on the street, all alone.
There, they can forget all the misery
The pain, the grief that they feel;
Wanting to help but not
Wanting to be seen helping
A stranger, a poor vagrant
Stupid enough, in their unseeing eyes
To get himself shot in the first place
Not wanting to spoil their social image;
Not wanting to get blood
On their new designer coat
They pass the boy
And turn away.
So there lies the stranger
Shivering, dying
On the street corner
Hoping for someone to stop
And take him home.