Conversations with Victoria

Abandoned They sit on the platform discarded, dejected, rejected like junk,  by a society which couldn’t care less  unwilling to sort out this mess.  Refugees or street people, who knows, no labels, no forwarding address Lost or forsaken, mistaken for trash carelessly pushed by a dirty broom a clean sweep to make room -  for what? Bundles and bags are clutched to their side, lifelines or anchors to lives they hardly recall, and some  of them have no memory at all of the families they lost or left behind  in this perilous race for their life -  degradation has hi-jacked their minds. People pass by, noses in the air discussing this blight on their nation, loudly, as if no-one was there - humanity cluttering up their station. They point to a sign, piously proud: don’t litter, don’t loiter, no waiting allowed. They huff at society’s failings  blindly railing against the laws that allow this unwanted mob to beg, with imploring eye