Homeless Us Poem by Michael Burch

The coldest night I ever knew
the wind out of the arctic blew
long frigid blasts; and I was you.

We huddled close then: yes, we two.
For I had lost your house, to rue
such bitter weather, being you.

Our empty tin cup sang the Blues,
clanged—hollow, empty. Carols few
were sung to me, for being you.

For homeless us, all men eschew.
They beat us, roust us, jail us too.
It isn't easy, being you.

Originally published by Street Smart