Jaywalkers

a poem by Roger B Rueda

Is there concern that you will soon
become extinct
in the streets?
Of course, never.
This idea is rubbish.
Yes, like the streets
strewn with it
every day. Colourful.
Commercial. Those are
very artistic
streets they have there all over.
The flyovers
are home of old beggars,
Dinagyang families,
and glue sniffers.
Never mind them.
They need to jaywalk.
They are rubbish-like,
aren’t they?
It is a happy choice
for them.
Everyone can feel safe going
out alone at night.
Hey, mind!
You, the ex-jaywalkers,
have mutated
from stupid citizens
into obedient urbanites.
Pedestrian crossings are set
on every mind.
The traffic lights need
a radar.
Do your cars have one?
Or at least
Inside your bags?
Poor jaywalkers,
whose happiness
Are you when
you are gone? What have you done?