Homeless

Homeless

The bus drives off belching black smoke.
My eyes linger on that last trace of anything familiar.
Homelss, I have no money now.
Ashamed for friends to see me this way
because they would not understand.

Stomach jumping, I look down the street
as the police haul someone in.
I look for a spot to call my own,
a place to lay my head.
Around each corner, a new view of bleakness.

I ask a stranger for a dollar
and wonder if my check came.
Maybe Armageddon will strike and
I'll be saved
from the addiction that put me here.
Tears run in fear and frustration.

As an ant, I'd crawl in a hole.
I wish I was that small, or brave.
"If only" is the mantra in my head;
if my back wasn't bad, if my kids were
rich or caring.
If I was not too proud,
I wouldn't be here now.