At the traffic light she stands;

On her back, a small boy;

His eyes round; deep black;

In a wizen face, bereft of joy.

 

What thoughts cross his mind?

As he observes in his childish way;

The endless traffic that passes by;

Throughout each and every long day.

 

Their well-fed occupants flash by;

Their faces just at his line of sight;

What feelings in him are aroused?

As they ignore his desperate plight.

 

Does it make him feel invisible?

Unwelcome in this troublesome life;

Does it develop into feelings of despair?

As their complacency cuts like a knife.

 

The cards he has been dealt, provide;

few opportunities to improve and learn;

How frustrating to watch the world pass by;

Knowing it will never be your turn.

 

If we want to see real change and difference;

We must start to recognise and right;

The casualties of poverty and indifference;

Even if our individual contribution is slight.

 by Robbie Cheadle