When The Lights Turn Red

When the lights turn red,
traffic comes to a halt,
but they begin to earn,
their peanut butter and bread.

A group of young girls, all maybe fourteen,
who, like others, were destined to be queens,
were deceived and sold into prostitution,
where their bodies are daily put up for auction.

At the signal, they showcase their flesh,
to lure clients, from whom they earn cash,
with which they will buy their independence,
from selling their very bodies for a few pence.

A group of trans-persons,
whom the society shun,
who are as much a person as you and I,

but are still hated, I fail to understand why.

At the signal, they extend their rough palms,
hoping that the people, who deny them jobs, will see,
beyond their gender, and have some mercy,
so that they can feed their hungry selves with the alms.

A group of homeless,
living in a terrible mess,
forced into beggary,
by their callous destiny.

At the signal, despite feeling reluctant,
to go forward to people and entreat,
they beg, because otherwise they can't,
get their embarrassed selves something to eat.

A group of street hawkers,
passes through the gawkers,
in extreme cold, rain, and sun,
with their daughters and sons.

At the signal, they try to sell,
the things the people may not need,
like hair gel, bell, and cell,
so, their tired selves, they can feed.

Let us not be deficient in propriety,
and create a communist society,
where every single person is well fed,
whether or not the lights have turned red.

~Caritas, Lux, et Varitas;
The Unknown Poet.