Past luxurious condominiums, office complexes, and dirty slums:
That great divide between poverty and affluence,
Dotted the landscape of the train's journey but not my conscience.
The train that snaked through the backyards of the miserable
Was not spared the division, as the first-class commuters, insufferable,
Stared through the wire-mesh that separated them from their
Inhuman fellows, crowded together like cattle for slaughter.
The great divide that I witness, and do not care to acknowledge
Is perpetuated from generation to generation, and the baggage
Of impoverishment is passed on from father to son as an heirloom -
The only thing that he could gift, just as he joyously met his doom.
And as the train rolls into the gothic structures of the Victoria
I exit, but never really leaving behind the poor's dysphoria.
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