Public Property

I’m living on the street, that does not make Me yours to feed with food I do not eat Though I may lay my hat before your feet My history is not your tale to take. I’m old, I’m poor, I’m ill, I haven’t got A pot to piss in, or a welcome mat You still don’t get to patronise, or pat My head as if you think I’ve lost the plot. I’m pregnant, I’m in prison, I’m alone I’m lost, I’m frightened in a foreign land I’m vulnerable, but not, you understand Your *****. My mind and body are my own. So touch me not, nor tell my tale for me For I am not your public property. © Gail Foster 17th May 2018