Plastic bags.

Pure, barren walls support

Interpretations on display,

Of human suffering

As a way to entertain.


Photographs depict restrained despair-

Serene creatures gasping for air,

Artfully and gracefully mirroring suffocation

While guarded by the comfort of simulation.


Floors swept clean do not crack

While withstanding the weight of

Leather shoes.

Polished corners dare not speak

Of the ignorance that abounds

In this room.


A bag drifts away with the

Trajectory of the wind’s orchestration,

Passing between promenading passerby

Along a rhythmic path.


Into the street the bag blows

And behind the crowd she bellows,

“Catch that bag!”

As if the bag

Were of her own flesh and bones.


Heads turn and eyes wander

To the abject sight of a wretched beggar.

Impervious to judgments

Because she can’t afford to care,

She leaps in desperation

To snatch the bag in midair.


A bag sustains life for the

Rejected, impecunious souls,

Refusing to give up,

Always fighting for survival.


Critics stroll through the gallery

A chin in a hand,

A word in the mouth,

Gazing upon images

That speak to their doubt.


Privilege in their veins,

Money in their hearts,

Using a bag as a way out

When perceiving times as hard.


Pennies at her heels,

Scraps at her feet,

Using a bag as a container

That holds the food she eats.


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