The crossing guard carries roses,

The crossing guard carries roses and a

Bright orange vest

The paltry mid-march sun awakens the violet crocuses,

Violently violet blossoms

The remnants of February, the smoky snow on the sidewalk, is side stepped

by weary people wearing their struggles 'round their necks,

'for a good cause' they scream, and the

tremble in their voices could be the cold or

their desperation.

But none of the hurried drivers with cigarettes hanging

Out their windows have time to empty their purses of

A dollar or two.

the crossing guard stops the traffic and drops rusty coin

into cardboard collecting boxes, and makes his way

back to his corner, still carrying scorched

Roses and a bright orange vest- I think he might be crazy.