King Square, Bristol, 2015 by Tom Sastry

This is not a poem about homelessness.

This is a poem about tents appearing

in parks and squares. This is not a poem

about churches that look like garages

or praise songs sung for soup. This is not a poem

about orphaned trolleys full, for the first time

of meaning. This is not a poem about

Keep off the Grass. This is not a poem

about police tape or the words

Forensic Investigations.. This is not a poem

about the man shouting  to the hostel window

that he knows Welsh Cunt Dave is in there.

This is not a poem about Welsh Cunt Dave.

..

This is about me being slow to realise

why the tents appeared. This is about a city

refusing to know itself, scurrying past.

This is about no-one offering soup without Jesus.

This is about the cameras that film the trolleys

and the bins and the humans. This is about

the benches respectable people say they can’t sit on

anymore. This is about the tired look

on a policewoman’s  face and how I empathise

with her. This is about the untold story of Dave

who is not a cunt but may be Welsh.

This is not a poem about homelessness.

This is as close as I get.

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2 thoughts on “King Square, Bristol, 2015 by Tom Sastry

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