The Orphan Girl

She walks by me
and grazes her hand accross my back
as she passes.

She turns around
and saunters to where I am sitting
and stands in front of me.

She looks through my eyes
into my mind
but notices her reflection in my lenses
as she watches her own tear silently
slip down her cheek.

My expression doesn't change.

She turns away
and heads toward the street with
the other girls.

Her clothes are merely shredded sheets
and her dark brown hair is like that of a dog.
She timidly scours the pavement
in search of her next meal.

She glances over at me
eating my piece of store-bought pizza
and sipping my Starbucks tea.
She wants to ask for some change
but is too afraid of
large white men.

I shrug my shoulders and tell myself
"good, I would have said no anyway."