Home

“Wherever I lay my hat”, he said Inferring home was there. A state of belonging bound in felt Anchored in darkest millinery. He had his hat; his hat was home. The putrid hostel beds and often doorways Always home to him, Never mind the ice-cold fingers, Ripping at his worn sleeping bag Storm after storm assaulted the city. He was warm within himself. He had his hat; his hat was home. A security blanket, nursing his psyche Hiding him away from the hideous reality Where the discarded homeless was a norm. Society, uncaring, dismissed him with a glance, Pouring hateful derision his way He had his hat; his only home.