Tall, beautifully landscaped buildings standing, looking over the city of Tempe.
Chase Bank prettily reflecting new model cars and trucks as they drive by.
Silly moving reflections - new with each passing car.
In front of the building, sitting with head bent over, leaning on uplifted knees, trying to sleep.
Homeless, down on his luck, dreaming dreams of depravation and loneliness, no food in his stomach.
Behind him is a beautiful building, Chase Bank, filled with money, none to share.
Vision of the future marred, but by which sight?
Is the view of the bank marred by the presence of a homeless individual, or is the view of life marred by concrete buildings?
Is Chase Bank a blot on our future horizon?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem