Homeless This man’s winter is so unkind, the chill of it reaches marrow, dulls his mind. The town has no place for him, nowhere to go, a black, stooped silhouette against sunset’s glow. Tattered coat, loose chafing boots, without a lace, his bed tonight, a concrete culvert, or some sodden place. His lullaby, the hiss and rumble of tyres on tar, the chance of food, a discarded morsel from a passing car.