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A woman who visits my street daily.
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Bottle Lady

Her shopping cart is full
of plastic bottles.
She swept away
a gross of Schweppes--
bottles once full of ginger ale,
at best
now voids of scented air.
She fingers the long necks
of black and tans, stouts, porters, that
have long lost their ten minute heads.

The pickings are never slim for
a Haitian woman
with a broad-brimmed hat
followed by
a black beaten-up
alley cat.

We toss our bottles
to her
on the vast, pungent garbage sea
and vaguely worry
"That could be me."