Urban Furniture

Traipsing around this dump of a city
Inspecting the pavement for a square metre clean
A square metre pissless
A square metre shitless
Spitless, pristine perhaps a tall order
But no water or age-old gum would be a welcome change
In range I see my new home
House warming for one I rest up smart
Mid way between the cash machine and the Spar
Ground hard despite the bag and blanket
Propped up, cig lit, dropped my guard
Quit hiding like I’d always hid from me ma
I don’t need their money now
Or care how they judge me now
A cup of tea and 20 Bensons is the last money I’ll ever spend
Could’ve got a bed to sleep in with that but then tomorrow right back on the street again?
Sod that
I’m home and free
Stone free
Stone free, to do what I please
And if you please I’ll rest up here
I won’t bother you
You don’t bother me
A deal is done at least in my mind
Wind down and watch the world go by
My nose fizzes up but i refuse to cry
Why should I?
Why should I bawl for a world that forced me to crawl as soon as I could walk?
Why should I weep for a life of unfree speech when I never got the chance to talk?
No, I sit and I look and I smoke
A man walks by and throws a quid straight into my lap
Excuse me mate can you take that back?
I’ve handed in my notice, hung up my hat
Could you please take it back and give it to some other sap?
Thank you madam but I’m alright for food
No I’m not being rude it’s just sustenance is something my body will now refuse
You don’t save money by spending it
You don’t reach sobriety through drink
I need to think about my end goal and not be tricked as my rampant hunger unfolds
It’s cold now
The streets have died down now
The bums are packing their things up to leave
To find a tent or squat or cover
This square is my throne and here I’ll freeze
Off you go bums, nice to know you
I can call you that now on the day of my retirement
I’m not a bum
This is my sofa
This is my bed
The clouds are my ceiling
The shops signs are my art deco interior design
It’s kitsch, it’s post-modern, it’s retro before it’s time
It’s mine
I look up to the sky and see far up high
A speck of white slowly but clumsily working its way down
I follow it until it finds a path direct to my iris
Direct impact
A taster test of the frost to follow
And it follows
Thick and slow
Christmas card snow
Fairytale snow
And on a rare day where no rain has fallen
It sticks
It settles
It clings to the cars, to the streetlights, to the bins, to me
Another piece of urban furniture
Another Benson lit
My only permitted movement
I don’t shift or shake
A sitting polar panda with a smoking bamboo
A white waving cat
A one armed fool
The glow of the cherry the only evidence there’s a man beneath this mound
A hiker in a blizzard wishing not to be found
I shiver and don’t blink
Survival instinct tells me to move
And I refuse to listen
Just vibrate and glisten
Teeth chatter and the clatter bounces off the walls
The core of my being being shook till raw
And for the first time I see a world I adore
This dump of a city pure and untouched
Covering up the vast myriad of imperfections
Rejections, failed expectations
A city that never needed me
A blemish, a bother, a liability
And happily I close my frost covered eyes
Knowing this sight is the last thing they’ll ever see

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