i've never been homeless.
that's to say, i've never slept on concrete
or had my pick of the countless lawn gnomes
of suburbia to rest my head against,
away from the light of a campfire
and a scary story to tease my eyes shut.

but if someone were to ask me,
sweetheart, where is your home?
a cab driver with an open window,
or perhaps a caring stranger,
his coat pockets lined with tissues,
i still wouldn't quite know how to answer.