Vice

We blame Pandora for the vices within us

and we are fast to point with dirty fingers

we live fast, for ourselves, what we want

and the feeling of longing, of regret still lingers.

Change in our pockets, jingles while we walk

a new house, marble interior, wood floors,

casually toss our new car keys while we talk,

we have it all, we're convinced, but all is none.

On the streets of New York, a poor woman paces

the sidewalks, the streets, while people make faces

she is shoved, she is pushed, she is spat at, she

is ignored, her baby's face swims before her eyes.

And we walk on by because the ego is too high

because we deserve what we have,and who is she anyway?

and she sleeps again under the bridge with her child held close,

is this not the humanity to which they belong?

and she wonders where the Land of Opportunity went wrong.