Pic: David Blackwell

Don’t scrabble in your pocket

for your last 50 pence

cos John has an olive green tent.

And when the park is dark,

he says he smells the stars,

some comfort, but light years away.

Don’t rifle through your cupboards

for your blankets, worn but warm

cos John wraps up snug in the news.

And as the sun rises and yawns

he hears the tapestry of dawn,

Some comfort, but he can’t translate.

Don’t load up your car

with your baked beans and soup

cos John knows his mushrooms and berries.

And in the rush toward lunch

he tastes the warmth of the sun,

some comfort, but misted by rainbows.

Don’t give up your Christmas,

wear your red Santa hat

cos John has a beer, says salute!

And as all the bells jingle,

he feels the end of this day,

some comfort, but given away.

© Jacqui Thatcher 2014, all rights reserved