stolen cans

you see them in the grocery store,
the frail and bent,
moving slowly down
the fluorescent aisles,
a bundle of coupons
in hand, their great long
coats sagging with stolen cans
of tuna, or cat food.
let them go, you think,
let them be, but no, the store
shakes them down before
they have a chance to leave.
they're scolded like children
then sent back out into
the cold wind. the end of life
without love or money
being sorrow ten fold.