Without a Home

Sticky matted hair, Sweat from weeks past Sticks to his face. Like so many files he swats at them. Shifting through the piles Human refuge... Unknown horror and unseen disease Forgotten for an apple core... A few cans… The currency of the street. His home on wheels pushed, His life You scoff at making haste to the opposite side, Lazy He must be. Warm coat, home and car... All await you... Wet papers, boxes and carts... His life. Like so many files he swats them away... Moving on to his next treasure...