We stop on the steps of city hall
as protestors chant
and stand their ground
for the impoverished homeless
who freeze to death on January nights
because politics ignore them.
We pause a moment
before heading in for our license to love
and then proceed past the spectacle,
only to glance back over our shoulders
at the man dressed in black with a white collar—
shouting, praying, pounding on a brown coffin
he had wheeled up onto the sidewalk.