almost home
A short observational poem about fear, perception and urban life, where a late-night encounter reveals how suspicion and vulnerability shape the way strangers see each other.
i’m weary on the street
it’s late in the morning
and i’ve got a screwface
like godzilla
king of the monsters
not far from home
the sun due rising
and i can’t lose face
with this scruffy man
approaching
he’s got a large knapsack
his beard needs cutting
his sneakers shot up
his jeans all cut up
as i look in his face
he’s also scowling
i don’t know
if he’s homeless or prowling
there’s been a recent rise
in mugging and stabbings
when the streets are dead
it’s quite nerve racking
a sigh of relief
when the distance passing
i check back
but he’s also scanning
it’s a damn shame
the times we live in
trust no one after dark
it’s quite unforgiving,
so
i’m weary on the street
it’s late in the morning
and i’ve got a screwface
like godzilla
king of the monsters
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