Homeless
A cardboard box is my home
In the city where I was born
Wine beer and rats are my best friends
My meals come from trash
Sometimes it's hash
Or a soft pretzel hard as an oak
I beg borrow steal
to get a good meal
Like hot dogs and burgers and such
I smell like hell
And would bathe in a well
But there are none
Spring showers are nice
They rinse off the lice
That reside on my half balded head
So remember me when
You strive to be thin
Because death is not choosey
About your lonely fat life
My life was chosen
By living alone in my strife.
poem by John Shea
Added by Poetry Lover
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