Like their parents, they run late in white shirts

And perfect ties, carrying innocence in their lunch boxes

While the bag lady watches, her eyes beady

And greedy for a smile, some love. Anything

You're willing to give her. Mice scamper

Over her feet and disappear in sewage drains

Of muck-washed money and old slippers,

Their teeth touching yesterday's dinner. There's

Too much here, but not enough and so,

The shops stay open till midnight. You buy

Three, and maybe you'll get one free

Lucky, like those by the river. But the rest

Of us, we'll keep standing, or struggling,

On the maidan of our orange revolutions.