to survive

you see it in the grocery
clerks, in their eyes,
the stock boy, the gas
station attendant,
those hanging onto
the straps
of the train, buses.
it's in the stare
of the homeless,
the factory workers,
blackened men
down in
the coal mines, the mills,
on the fishing boats
with their heavy
nets out in the green
sea.
the poor, born poor,
and forever poor,
those in line for a ticket
out,
a lottery number.
the drunks, the whores,
the addicts.
the priests who hear the sins
of others all day.
the strippers on the stage.
the single mother
on the dole, in the long
line at the unemployment door.
it's a stare, a low
flame
of fatigue. of feeling like
the game is up.
weariness set in, with
no way out,
trying to figure out how
they arrived where they are,
when as children
it seemed as if there was no
other way
but to win, not to just
survive.