Somewhere in the projects a baby girl is born.
Her cries are heard outside the broken window.
Her mother doesn’t feed her, the welfare cheque’s all gone,
spent on sinful pleasures shared with men she doesn’t know.

No one hears her crying, and no one sees her plight.

Somewhere there’s a Porsche parked outside a fancy house
but behind those walls the tears are cried in silence.
He hits her, and he puts her down, then turns his well-dressed back
and they hide it from the neighbours behind the garden fence.

No one knows he’s lying, and no one hears the fight.

Somewhere there’s an old man, with a ragged overcoat
his pockets stuffed with memories as he settles for the night
and in his hand he clutches a rumpled paper bag
as he huddles in the alley that he’ll call his home tonight.

No one sees him dying, and no one feels his fright.

No one sees, so no one cares; no one wants to get involved.
The less they know the less to carry in their conscience.
But pretending not to see won’t heal their pain
on their long and lonely journey in the rain. 

may 2004
©Janet Reid





Awarded by New Horizons ~ May 21, 2004





Awarded by Poetic Constellations ~ March 26, 2008