The world’s unseen
are seen here, chased
in by dark intentions
and bad blood to this
beat down office park
dying by a hot stretch
of road full of rage
and fading dreams.
Africans from everywhere,
whole families from India,
the staccato Spanish
of Puerto Rico and a skinny
kid in a worn out t-shirt
sitting with his mother
helping him navigate
the application. He laughs
at the questions, pulling
nervously at thick, black
hair but she looks worried,
eyes full of fear because
she knows what he doesn’t:
there’s no mercy out there
for him or the others waiting
word of work. For me, either,
watching. No mercy, at all.