Permanent Address Poem by Anna Wakefield

I approached the familiar chair,
And sat, breathing out the stress of the day.

Looking around, familiar faces with almost-remembered names
Flashing back and forth on the TV.

In my hand is just water,
But it feels like a tell.

I sit, all my possessions within reach.
Everything that makes me what I thought was

Unique
Fearless
Strong

Is hidden behind my leg.
Embarrassment and shame engulfs me again.
Another hotel lobby, because no bed welcomes me.

A bag filled with donated miscellaneous mystery meat
Cans I bow down for, gratitude for something

For something someone found.
From Easter, or Christmas,15-20-30 years past.

No good for people,
To the homeless it's passed.

The chair is familiar.
It is the chair I sat in when I realised -

Pity is not low enough,
Disgust is not deep enough.

You know how you feel when you see them.
Sat outside because no one welcomes us in.