No Fixed Abode Poem by Angela Wybrow

Around the streets, some people pace;
Others sit in doorways and stare into space.
With nothing to do and nowhere to go,
Days seem to drag and time goes slow.

Their daily lives hold little direction;
They're prone to illness and infection.
Their dowdy clothes are full of dust and dirt;
Their eyes are full of hunger and deep down hurt.

Aromas from restaurants waft through the air,
Making pangs of hunger much harder to bear.
Their bellies grumble due to a lack of food;
Remembering better times, they sit and brood.

Some want money for food, drink or drugs;
Some just want love, and they just want a hug.
Amidst the city's seemingly never-ending din,
Many scavenge for their food in rubbish bins.

To ask for money, some seize their chance:
They get ignored or receive a cutting glance.
Like you and I, these people have feelings,
But the sight of them leaves some people reeling.

The lucky few head to a hostel for the night;
Others bed-down in doorways: a sorry old sight.
Those left on the streets do their best to sleep,
But klaxons wail loudly and car horns beep.

Each day and night, they struggle to survive;
In present circumstances, they cannot thrive.
Once upon a time, these people had pride,
But, from the world, they now want to hide.