The steel bite of winter wakes me.
City life slurs a good morning.
Car engines drone, what a relief not to be alone.
The dark night is washed away. Streets are bathed in hazy grey.
The sounds of heels striking pavements remind me; it’s time to move on.
I walk towards my day time address,
I stop at the wastelands.
Hope don’t grow here.
I pass the day far far away, from those with homes and those that wake up with purpose and warm bones.
Peevish hands toss cheap gestures of pity at my feet,
“Spare a pound love I gotta eat”
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