1 a.m. Sunday morning, as I exit Brighton station,
Blue Man is swinging – you gotta love this town!
Swing by Clock Tower, along North Street; feel
my smile turn upside down – in the doorway of
Thomson’s Holidays and doorway of Barclays Bank
and doorway of the Body Shop and on and on, bodies
sleep tonight; somebody’s child, sister, brother,
mother, father, grandparents, friends; crashed
out on the steps of commerce in cardboard dens,
blue bags, faux fur throws – so vulnerable and
exposed. Unmoved by passersby − early to `bed’,
early to rise −up with the sun if the chill doesn’t
bite first… feel urge to place treasure under every
head, leave silver, breakfast trays with pancakes
and sweet maple syrup and a note that says: this
has been a bad dream −no more cold, mean streets
or dodgy alternatives for you, you see, “we”
aspired to be like that Canadian city in the news
(Medicine Hat, Alberta) where homelessness is
no longer a Big Issue – so pack up your troubles!
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