I work with the homeless. The pros among them are incredably innovative having lived rough for years. They truly March to a different drummer
Homeless Innovation
Vacant eyes in constant wander
Hair in harried dirty blonde
Jacket torn and ripped asunder
Boots removed laces long gone
Dumpster bound for treasure sparse
Furtive glances in chance of notice
Security here is a bit of a farce
But guard dog signs are rarely bogus
Following shadowed nooks and walls
He threads his way to the metal box
In ballet steps over scrap deadfalls
Now up and over in his socks
His prize in hand he exits now
Boots on tracing the inward route
The roll awkward it’s weight somehow
Balanced nicely his gait resolute
Clear and away he breathes a sigh
Tonight will be more pleasant now
Bubblewrap will quilt him warm and dry
Another night of just knowing how
Poetry by josephus
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Written on 2022-02-23 at 18:57
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