Living in a one room dive,
Smelling of grease and onions.
The fumes of unwashed bodies
scenting the air.

Like a street organ grinder
living in the blessed
land of liberty. Bringing
home each night a paltry
sum that barely bought our
dinner.

A ragged blanket on the
floor, our only sense of bedding.
Briefly, at times we would
escape from our purlieus
existence and act out a life of
prosperity.

Those days are long gone, now
having become a sentimental light
in spite of an occasional dose of
reality.

The anguish of harden times reminds
me that life was once a care free
journey where music filled the air
and everyone was a friend.