It happens -- Just Plain Poetry

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Date Posted: 10:14:27 01/17/15 Sat
Author: Jjaz
Subject: It happens

It Happens

It was rather warm last night.
Good thing.
Still, tiredness whistles
a sleepy tune.
I am tired,
tired of the cold,
of breaking down doors
of homelessness,
like a beast come
to conquer its prey.
The rain, also,
that locks me under
some busy overpass
or dry entry.
You'd think I live there.

Always, people walking by
trying not to stare,
staring.
Where do they all go
and come from?
I guess,
someplace,
somewhere over a hill.
I have never
been on that side of the field.
A friend of mine has.
Yet, we drink
from the same fountain.
It's a travesty
with sad stories
littered along some highway
of reality,
leading here
to this cardboard box life
and a free meal,
well,
every once-in-awhile.
(Sometimes, it tastes better
than the day before,
but I prefer real soup.)

Not all bums were well-to-do.
Some, just regular people
who didn't understand the rules.
Others perhaps, a rebel type
who refused to paint
with brushes,
using their fingers instead,
never quite staying within the lines,
outcasts.
They are homelessly dysfunctional
with artistic depravity
towards living.
Someone took my picture,
saw it on billboards
all over town.
I guess they made a lot of money.
Me standing erect
under an old bakery door way,
wearing someone else's
Sunday discarded, best.
I must have become a little less
of a man.
Oh well.
I wonder if the mission
is open.
Oh no!
It's raining!

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