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