A lost guardian angel.
Sitting on the edge of the world.
I follow the cracks of the sidewalk, my trolley and I.
My home on the corner of every mission street.
My tin coffee cup starts off with caring heartbeats.
My only possession is the icon of war, with six buttons missing.
Navy and white my grandfathers 70-year-old military tunic.
My Jacket from which I am inseparable.
My Jacket goes wherever I go.
This Jacket is my home.