He wheels his worldly goods
now in a chair his mother sat in as he pushed her
along sidewalks and into shops
not far from her small place where
he slept on the couch, and helped her out.
She died, all leases up, and so
he's back on streets, in parks,
and underneath the tarp he carries
with him. He washes up wherever
he can. --Getting by,
getting warm when possible in
a world where people try like hell
to look away. The barrier between
the sheltered and unsheltered seems
high to them. A few toss money over it.
He could tell them (but he never does)
with what ease a person can slip down
the ladder. A little illness and some
depression, or psychosis, add some
loss of work and a broken web of friends
and family--and that will do the trick.
One night you're sleeping in your car.
And then you have to sell the car for cash.
And then you're pushing all you have
in a chair your ma used to sit in
as she encouraged you not to lose hope.
hans ostrom 2023
