I need pegs to hang things on...
pegs that are mine exclusively
waiting empty until I need them,
where I know everything is mine.
I need places to put my shoes...
places close to where I sleep
so they’ll be there when I wake
to take me into the world again.
How do homeless people do it...
keep their things together and
their wits about them day to day?
How do they know what’s theirs?
2 comments:
Unimaginable to me. I'm so damn lucky.
Great questions in your poem. The photo is striking. I missed our usual Wednesday coffee with you. Clyde
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