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The Untouchables

de Be Under Arms

he shuffled up a pair of surfer slippers and an old tweed blazer.
asked you for a quarter and you looked the other way. he leaned
up against the tow zone sign and just in time for you to avert
your eyes said "good morning sir. have a nice day."
she wears four wool winter hats all year round and mumbles and
sometimes screams. he wears a coat made of burlap sacks and sits
in parking lots, never asking anyone for anything. he's the old
black guy with the shopping cart. she's the old lady with the
bright blue sweat pants. they're the two young white squatter
kids with dirty undershirts and rotten teeth. he's the guy who
hangs out underneath the overpass shouting curse words at
passing motorists, or the guy who passed in my alley, who drank
until his life made any sense. he's the hustler on the train. or
his four accomplices, living on three tattered playing cards and
slight hand. he's darron in front of 7-11 on walton and state.
she's babs up and down on belmont right by the train. he's buddy
and his wife in uptown, by the aragon, he's andy selling
streetwise at the white hen in boys town. he was ed from
southside who gave me cigarettes and hope at wallgreens on
belden and clark where inspiration dies alone. yeah, these are
the people in your neighborhood. they're the people you don't
see when you're walking down the street. they're the people you
don't see each day

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