Poetry
Issue #6
The Street-Dweller
(or What he is not, not what he is)
He staggers – a Man – bent under the weight of society
’s forgotten promises and abuse and
the hard, dark coat in which he keeps everything
he owns and hides his tired broken body.
Unclean. Unkempt. The homeless man.
Less what he is than what he isn’t.
Tired and hungry, a man made of shadows: only I can see him
for what he really is. I reach out
for the coffee that sits on the table before me as I watch him
through the window of the café
as I try to understand his unhappiness, his pennilessness:
to understand not what he is, but what he isn’t.
He is forgotten in the name of ignorance and fear
is both his worst curse and his greatest defence.
We use ‘the two-fingered-salute’ and ‘four-letter-words’:
these form the wall we build to protect
ourselves from understanding him and ‘his kind’, as we refer to
what he isn’t, not what he is.
He unwalks – a Nonman – unstraight under the weight of society’s unremembered promises and unkindness and
the softless, unlight coat in which he nonloses everything he unlost and unexposes his unawake, nonfixed body.
Dirty.
Scruffy.
The Street-Dweller.
What he is not, not what he is.
Samuel Anthony Cooke