MOTHER TERESA'S NEW YORK
spread-eagled
his pants split
lying in the gutter
near a pile of dog shit
no one hears his silent cry
or his spirit's long gone goodbye
as the cityfolk
(whose tax deductible checks
have been sent to Calcutta)
walk by.
in this city of extremes
Trumpeting hotel rooms
and billion dollar schemes
where money pours out of magazines
and automatic bank machines
the wreckage of lost dreams
sleep in doorways in the rain,
covered with warming newspapers
and chilling disdain.
(From: Out Of Love And Other Poems, by Kitty Madeson (1993) Stone Soup Poets, Boston.)
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