HOMAGE TO THE HOMELESS MAN
I stand in homage to the homeless man
Who shoulders courage, in adversity.
He chose a riverbank to lay his head,
The grass of the pillow, a thin thread.
His shoes without soles are like a
Gherkin sandwich, without the bread.
His feet rest on a pile of plastic
Strips found by the wayside.
His day clothes are worn at night.
He could never get it right. He cried
But once, in terror of his fate.
In this life, he’s never late
But time does stretch ahead like gloom.
He suffers for the not-having of a room.
Why does he live this life of diversity?
Didn’t he go to university?
Or is it a preference, a choice he has made
To live on the slick edge of being afraid
That life will never be enough,
Or perhaps over-full? He grins just then
Because he didn’t want to be a tool
Of civilised, harsh-breathing, Harvard men.
