Street people tend to frighten me, have attacked me twice (both were women)--once with a knife. Basically this poem is based upon BOTH attacks. Many are mentally ill and my heart goes out to them. Still, they frighten me.
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Old woman, rag heap,
walking on the street,
sleeping on the grill … chills.
How fast her heart beats.
That she lives … a feat,
walking on the street.

Sees my cup. "Give me!"
(I'm walking the street.)
She begs for coffee … free.
To trip, extends feet,
fall … on my beats
upon the mean street.

She yells, "You are dead!"
A cops strolls ahead.
I never heard a word.
"I am deaf," I said.
The cop nods his head
it's his beat … this street.

She draws a knife, "Freak!"
She backs down the street.
Cops wrestle her down … frown.
She wiggles free, streaks.
How fast MY heart beats
as she walks the street.

Mad, she runs, horns beat
along side the street.
Her breath smells--booze … oozed.
She squats … takes a leak.
Ten cops pounce; she bleats,
"Jes' walkin' the streets."