Homeless

Photo from Google

Who are you? Strange, lost, lonely man,
Living in the park out of a shopping bag.
Sleeping bag, wine cask, dry, old crusty bread,
Under bushes in the playground you have made your bed.

Thin legs made thinner, encased in tight, black jeans.
Lonely, but well cared for; then nothing‘s as it seems.
Round and round in circles, hand behind your back
You mirror the hurdy-gurdy, turning in its track.

Shoppers come, shoppers go, riding, walking, jogging,
driving to and fro,
No-one sees you, no-one hears you, no-one wants to know,
How you came into their neighborhood, how you came to be a hobo.

Children’s laughter, does it cheer you? Or chant, “You don’t belong”?
Your life’s so lost, so lonely amidst the shopping throng.
Fear does not allow me to reach out for your hand,
Inquire and include you in a world that’s locked you out.

Tangled mind, lost youth, drugs and liquor ease your pain.
Your demeanor says it’s finished. There is nothing more to gain.
We’re so quick to make a judgment. So harshly we condemn.
Have we all become so blinded to the plight of troubled men?

Judi Moylan