Concrete Mattress

His face wears the cloak of a hundred winters

Who knows how many snowflakes his eyes have blinked away

His body has felt the cuts of many razors of the windchills 

The many layers he's worn have only repelled so much 


Who knows what his life was like many years ago 

Much better or the same; only he can answer this 

No one dreams of having a desire of this life he has 

No one envisions having the sky as their roof year round 


At some point for many, the shelter ended up as their home

No real home to go to, one that has a door in which to stick one's key

This home they share with many a stranger 

A family they never thought or even cared to have 


For this veteran of the elements, however, no desire for the shelter 

The streets are his home of comfort 

It's safer, he says, in spite of having the concrete as a mattress

He desires the daylight of nature as his giant lamp


A little corner of the frigid city he'll pick as his bedroom for the evening 

The people of the city go by, mostly oblivious to his presence 

He's out of their way, knowing the unwritten rules of outdoor space

Under a blanket or two, all he wants is covering and rest


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