-the privileged man-

I don’t see the homeless as they wake-up to the new day in Swansea,

therefor I have no compassionate interaction with them, and by compassionate

you understand I mean ignoring them and their predicaments as a common passerby.

I don’t know where they sleep. there doesn’t seem to be anyone around

whenever I decide to walk across the backyard at sunup or when

I’m driving to the Stop & Shop for the eggs I’ll need right away,

maybe stopping on my trek through the sharp florescence
toward the checkout registers to nab an intriguing kitchen implement

hanging in that blister-packed aisle of nickel-plated horrors.

there are those who assist the homeless and I guess I could phone

one out of curiosity to inquire about the availability of an updated

map to the places where the homeless settle-in for the night,

but the non-profit organization might ask me to ante-up with a donation

before they surrender any information and I’m not so fully engaged.

this morning the sunlight is good as it pushes itself inward from the east

and the birds are active at the water-bath I set-up a few days ago

under the great maple in the front yard at the stacked field stone wall

near the sleepy roadway running northbound toward Route 6

and southward toward the Mount Hope Bay or in whatever direction

the homeless find themselves this early morning.