Bum

There is no night tonight
city dreaming
with a tight budget
in my back pocket.

I walk
and stay
“Move on or buy something more!”

But the night is cold and lonely
and I only want sleep
and police move through the donut shops.

Is there something for me here
if only I could stand it one more day
I could afford the locker at the bus station for my clothes
if only I could put something together?

I’m not like that fellow with the garbage bags at least
with the beard so long and grey and gravelly.
People at night here don’t know me by my first name yet
and sometimes they’re nice to me.
a poem
by
Paul Bourgeois
Mr. Donut, Toronto, Nov. 21,/90

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