Homeless by Miki Byrne

I am not a silent poet

In a cardboard city,

where streets are paved

with polystyrene and chip papers.

Leavings of others gain value:

Nub-ends split and re-rolled

eke out a few drags.

Bins at the back of supermarkets

make good hunting.

The soup truck  is serendipity

on a cold night.

Now and then, a clean bed.

Subject to someone else’s

charity, warmth,

sense of good citizenship.

Mostly, we stand invisible.

To turned heads, walls of indifference.

Some drift in their own world.

Some fly on Thunderbird.

Dream of a safe home.

View original post

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s