if I had a nickel for every vagrant I ever walked by
on the streets of New York…
it wouldn’t make a difference
I wouldn’t be able to buy them coffee
or a new life
or a soul


if I had a nickel for every vagrant I ever walked by
I’d put it into a jar and never spend it
I’d be ashamed
me with so many nickels
the streets brimming with so many vagrants
I’d tuck this guilt-jar away
like so many memories
like so many dreams
like so many brothers and sisters
and mothers and fathers
and so many people who’ve lost hope
on streets that lead nowhere


I’d put this jar somewhere useful
like a million feet under the sea
or in the molten lava of an active volcano
or in the white house
or in the Vatican


this jar, their jar, my jar
is the best way to kill a vagrant