Like their parents, they run late in white shirts
And perfect ties, carrying innocence in their lunch boxes
While the bag lady watches, her eyes beady
And greedy for a smile, some love. Anything
You’re willing to give her. Mice scamper
Over her feet and disappear in sewage drains
Of muck-washed money and old slippers,
Their teeth touching yesterday’s dinner. There’s
Too much here, but not enough and so,
The shops stay open ’til midnight. You buy
Three, and maybe you’ll get one free
Lucky, like those by the river. But the rest
Of us, we’ll keep standing, or struggling,
On the maidan of our orange revolutions.