Homeless

I walk the street

slowly,

a miserable ribbon

tied around my head;

the shackling blinker

black as the vision

that it intercedes.

I cannot see

the boundary of the path

where traffic bites,

nor the rushing pedestrian,

who does not see me.

But I manoeuvre

an unseen Morris

as I maypole

along the path;

a phantom tethered

by yesterdays.

I am Canute

and the unimpressed tide

does not see me.

I am homeless

in the beggar-land

of the shadows.