children of hottest july

try to escape fate

life is always grungiest

just before dawn

the street minister

doesn't shower but is kind

his puppets are worn

and his voice has grown raw

busloads of caring ladies

diamond fingered but sincere

sensitive souls sobbing

appear each morning

some children rise

glare with suspicion

outsiders can't understand

scorching grimy tar

beneath their feet

how vast is the bridge

between worlds unmet