THE SIMPLE LIFE
The tenant of the pavement patch
No longer lives at home.
He’s left his door without a latch,
His garden without a gnome.
He choose to live the simple life,
The rat race he abhors,
He has no child, no mum, no wife
No yacht, not even a horse.
His dog beside him share his view,
Neither – it’s clear – can cope.
The dog doesn’t even sniff at you,
He too has given up hope.
BIG ISSUE
We see them glumly loitering
by the grocery super-store,
And offering BIG ISSUE
with a thin, uncertain sound,
And as we lug our bursting bags
which almost scrape the ground
We shudder with aversion
as we slam the taxi door.
(BIG ISSUE is the name of a journal for homeless,
currently being sold on the streets.)
THE PRAYER
The pavement squatter’s muttering, praying,
Listen – you’ll hear what he is saying.
“Merciful Lord, I thank you well
That you ordained that I should dwell
Midst godly folk who – heeding your ways
Nightly grant me sheltered doorways
Wherein my weary bones I lay
Refreshed for begging one more day”
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