Homeless
Shudder in the cold air,
the end of the autumn.
I know each season like a son or daughter,
lashing out against me,
or cuddling and warming me,
like a favourite.
Gathering all I have found
I shake off the last shivers of a night before,
from the bench of the bus station,
kept warm with the tolerance
of the night watchman,
gone home to his wife.
The mint grey morning sky
hides a distant sun,
lurking in the cloud chambers;
His rays rattling out far too early,
the smell of rain on the horizon
above the rooftops.
The streets open out against me,
like many lovers,
With each one a different story awaits.
I am one of the lost and lonely souls,
who has decided nothing.
I have not made up my mind.
I am taking chances.
(2011)
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