Homeless at 18

I have a friend, Jose,

Who often times washes his face

With a 40 in the morning.

And I have another friend,

The reverend,

And on Sunday evening

We bow for food to his name.

But lastly there is the claw,

Who walks closely behind us all.

He grins at us in our shelter home

On the abandoned city street,

And sneers

At our fears;

We stand

In the sands

And the ocean.

I am an extreme

And we

Are the sons of John Wilkes Booth.

Of evil and a weight, not liberty.

My face is caked.

My fingers, they shake.

Jose screams in his sleep.

All we can do

Is listen.


Author's Notes/Comments: 

Now that you've read my poem please review it.  Thanks.

View andrewprout's Full Portfolio
a.griffiths57's picture

Homelessness at 18


A forelorn and very somber poem; dealing with homelessness must be a nightmare. As well as having to deal with people's snoberry too, must be awful. This poem is so matter of factly written - but realy shout's at the reader - like worst nightmare come true. I think the reader is also given a sense of aneasetical disasociation with the world and the state of being homeless. Just like the feelings you have when faced with a homeless person; Oh! that will never happen to me! Terrifying if it did, so distance yourself from the problem. Your poem is very good, I liked your poem very much - realy atmospheric, placing the reader right there. Very talented. I am also pleased that you liked "I am down a hole and covered in snow" - what a giggle. I will look in another time time like tomorrow and read some more of your work. Keep writing andrewprout.