I Walk the Streets

by Caitlin Harte

I walk the streets,
With nothing in my belly,
While they sit at their big oak tables
Stuffing their faces.
I walk the streets,
Stinking of old sewer water,
While they lie in their bathtubs
Smelling of roses.
I walk the streets,
Freezing to death,
While they lie under their covers
Cuddling a hot water bottle.
I used to stuff my face,
I used to smell of roses,
I used to cuddle a hot water bottle.
Now I’m lying in the alley and they have not learned.