I catch glimpses of them sometimes - the shadow people:
Peering wearily from their highway hideouts
Almost invisible behind their camouflage cladding
Of earth-stained rags, litter-lego shelters and unwanted persons status
They strike fear into the hearts of many - these desperadoes:
Preying on the numb conscience of society
Having nothing, they have nothing to lose
In their battle for survival on the fringes of existence
I wonder how dangerous they are - the bridge stowaways:
Watching the rushing world go by, to and fro
Living from land to hand to bottle to mouth
In a cycle of semi-conscious passive resistance
Their freedom threatens to make us less free - these fugitives:
Running from the iron hand of the law of economics
Hiding to escape the cruel prison of forced daily labour
Of those trapped in motor car coffins and office block cells
They are thieves of the most tragic kind - the highwaymen:
Assaulting our sense of justice, of right and wrong
Stripping our moral fibre and robbing our dignity
In a society that is meant to care for its weakest and most vulnerable
— Wayne Visser