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.