There are people who live on the street
The street’s human face and heartbeat
By rain and sun, by snow and by sleet
These are those people that we meet
Shuffling past and huddling by our feet
Who we glance barely by and rarely greet
Kindness, it seems, is truly a mean feat.

Arw we afraid to share in their defeat?
Is life a race in which we all compete?
Does shame force the broken to retreat?
Do losers get an opportunity to repeat?
People at their lowest don’t need our conceit.
A part of ourselves lives on the street
Looking for dignity, a roof and something to eat.

Che Chidi Chukwumerije
Poems from the inner river