Via Senza Tetto

There are no cafes or churches, no place to beg
only soft-hearted bureaucrats
sipping espressos, doling out benefits

it never rains on the street without roofs
or on the Via Modesta Valenti
where a bag lady left her name

no rotting meat in the alleys
where digits crawl over the bins
and pavements are made of nothings and ones

no life, and no death, on the street without roofs
just kind-hearted bureaucrats, going home to their wives
while you push through walls

to the real street, real life, where it rains.