I’m cold
hungry
didn’t have breakfast
guess this is what happens when winter comes
this chilly bench
warmth fleeting in this lonely park
except for a father and his kid I guess
eh I don’t exist
to anyone
at least they’re having fun
It’s colder
I’m colder
sucking on this smoke to ward off frostbite
They’re leaving
she watches me
I guess I should smile
I’m still a person
I hope I am.
Herbert Holmes is
homeless
he heaves heavy bags of trash for food everyday
hunger scrambling across his tongue
less homes than people
houses hollow of happiness he hollers
he mumbles then
humbled and homely
his Heavenly father is the only one to visit him on the streets
huddled against high-rises,
underneath society’s hazy gaze
Maybe he hates or waits for
a harbinger of humanity
Herbert Holmes is hopeless
but no less than a man
so why do I hesitate,
feeling helpless
The Poetry Corner 