Job Hunting Poem by Dharma Gill

Almost home,
six miles to go...
no transport.
Walking short,
standing in the rain.
Wet and strained.
I recall this same situation.

I'm almost there.
Got four miles left.
I am aware
about the dangers
of weird strangers,
and not even enough money for bus fare,
leaving me in deprivation.

After all this...
I still persist
with powers will,
like a death wish.
I haven't been
or seen the faceless age
of impatience.

It’s hard to get a job when you are Asian.