How do people have to look, to be without a home?
Addicted, drunk, violent or simply sad & all alone?
It’s often really difficult to tell
If someone actually lives in heaven or in hell.
Can it be as easy as looking at the way they dress?
Or if they are unwashed and their hair’s a mess?
What if their clothes are filthy and they really do smell?
Maybe it could be they’re just very unwell.
If it’s a park bench or cardboard box where they sleep
Or possibly because they no longer have a job to keep?
Or even just because they argued with mum and dad
When their adorable son confessed to liking another lad?
Could it be your daughter fell in love with the wrong boy?
To give you a grandchild for too early to enjoy?
And those who fought for our freedom and our Queen
Who have no home to live in when they leave
That’s just mean!
And when the government taxed people’s extra bedroom
It basically added more anguish & impending gloom.
Now I know there’s lots of reasons, it’s clearly plain to see
Why so many people have no place to say that
This belongs to me.
So if my poem has made you think for even a short while
Then honestly, these lovely people at least
Deserve your smile!
Anon – aka “The poet with Passion”