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Some of Us, Friends

This city wakes daily 
    to birdsong and worry—
we all miss our family 
    or friends, or the sky;

we wonder how long 
    our paychecks will last,
we fret about those who
    are sick, old or frail. 

Some ask how long 
    the atta will last,
will police harass us 
    if we go look for dal?

And some of us, friends,
    have no place to return to,
and some of us, friends,
    don’t know how to get home—

and some of us, friends, 
    are already hungry,
some of us, friends,
  are afraid and alone.

Distant or near, 
    all of us matter,
we must not forget
   we depend on each other.
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