You wear
every trauma
in the lines of your face,
in your scarred cheek,
and absent teeth.
You wear
each bad decision
in your jaundiced sclera
in the milky irises.
You wear
laughter in the crinkles
around your eyes,
and dignity
in your smile.
poem- East Hastings August 30, 2013
From the bus window
we watched the people
sitting around the needle exchange
tarps arranged against rain
carts piled high
to match their owners’ mental states.
Someone’s sister, daughter, mother.
Someone’s brother, son, father
Too many someones
looking dark, dirty, and desperate.
They watched us on the bus
as we watched them
Each of us in our own cages
looking through our own bars.
.
.
Gordon Campbell. This street didn’t look like this before your time. You have a lot to answer for!
Here’s a good photo on this blog.
Shawn L. Bird 
