You eager commuters
you don’t see me
in the shadows shivering
Remembering that green door and the
warm baking bread smells
A king in a pocket sprung bed
Beside my abdicated queen
And the curly haired prince who
No longer hears my song

You eager commuters
Forward looking
I alone have
Wealth and friendship
Bottle shaped
No idle chit-chat
But whispering cold comfort in my ear
and warming the broken hollows of my heart

You eager commuters
understand
This nook is not a chosen one
Not for its smells of rotting waste
or its views of shoes and hemlines
Of swiftly passing people
Averting their lofty eyes
From this pile of rag and bone
That used to be a man with house and home