RDW's poems

6- Shelter for the Homeless

Oh him — the one who calls himself The King.
They brought him in last night; been sleeping rough
and wandering ‘round the borough all this Spring
‘til last night’s storm.  That’s when the cops got tough.

Complaints, you know.  The local residents
said he was making more noise than the thunder.
Pair of lungs on him, it makes you wonder
where he gets the strength. He’s got no sense.

He’s got relations on the council list
but he denies it, says he’s on his own.
We found a daughter – didn’t care a piss.
So now we’re looking for the other one.

This Goneril – that’s where he’ll have to go.
Back on the streets for him if she says No.



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