Lost Prince Of Rue Saint-Catherine Poem by Kevin Patrick

The lost prince on Rue Saint-Catherine
Sits between les Ailes and Maison Sims
Living in an open concept house,
Without privacy but quite secluded
With skyscrapers roof, holding back sunlight
Letting in rain, on days for a shower
Sturdy walls of passing well-bred indifference
Rattle past with blasé urbane fashion
For he's too noble to for peripheral vision
Wears fashions latest second hand rags
T-shirts with worn stains, denim with holes
Tattooed dirt forms in every mark and pore
Shaping the cracks of every wisdom line
He touches his stubble and feels granite
A million marks of grit for a million tears to cry
He's got years of cities filth, stamped to his flesh
Humbled by hunger, his smiles when starved
Meekly sitting like some lamb in perdition
Looking vaguely around at the passing backs
Of tourists flocking, looking for landmarks
Or go shopping for cheap gimmicks when he's pulling lice from his hair They forgot to include him in novelty maps But he's there for full public view another unloved animal in this human zoo Never to understand his luxury of suffering silent desperation in blood shot eyes His is an illness no one should have The illness of homelessness.

And if you looked to his black hole eyes
You would see humanity crucified