the emergency room

at the mission in the Bowery

when the addict comes in at night

they are ushered through electronic doors that

slam shut like a prison

echoing down the hall &

with few people on staff

they make their rounds in the greater part of the shelter

with walkie-talkies hooked to them

but no weapons or defense tools of any kind

which might allow for those spending their evenings

cleaning the laundry of the homeless &

taking care to the best of their ability

of those that the rest of society has left to die

in the garbage bin that is the piss ridden street---

in the emergency room

where those that walk straight off the street are allowed to

keep shelter,

but only shelter,

they need not even give their names &

they are not hassled by the help---

they remain huddled together

nodding off in a stupor

with the staff checking on this specific room

every 15 minutes

with the hope that no one has drifted off to an overdose---

those with the walkies also have a needle on them at all times

which contains a good dose of adrenaline &

after gratuitous exercises upon being hired,

of shoving the needle into a ripe orange

over & over

(as if this is supposed to prepare you for shoving it in a human being

who has just overdosed),

they are told to be on the ready

for such a moment to arise

when they will need to use it---

upon entering the emergency room,

those who have come in off the streets often,

having no respect for those with jobs & lives that

they can no longer even imagine, or perhaps from a greater disdain for

society as a whole,

they often ridicule the help,

cursing at them,

maybe not even conscious that they are doing so &

it is all in a night’s work to ignore or tolerate these insults

to the best of one’s ability

in hope that they are not struck or physically attacked

because an adrenaline needle & a walkie-talkie

isn’t going to stop someone who has nothing left in the world but

rage.