A city tour bus from Vancouver’s air port slowly drives through Main and Hastings
Women look like witches in Polanski’s Macbeth
Men as starved vampires
Shuffle down East Hastings as though with feet of clay
Some hide in the shadows of the Carnegie Library
Lighting up their crack pips or shooting up herion
Their drugs try to bring them to Heaven
But they only wake up in the DTES of Hell
On beds made out of cardboard
They sleep, shit, piss, fuck in the back alleys
Screams of pain and waste
Wake me up at 3am
I hate them but pray for them in one breath
Looking out my small bachelor apartment window
Under looming darkness
They light up their crack pips and shoot up their heroin
As a little piece of their souls burn into the night.
Copyright © 2011 by Henry Doyle
A version of this poem was publish in MEGAPHONE, Vancouver’s Street Paper
Issue 62/ September 17th 2010
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[…] Same corner. (Yah yah, “Pain and Wastings.”) Likely it’s grey. The drizzle is cold. If you’re lucky this will be the Wednesday […]