homeless
Room With A View
Cold morning light. Runners, dog walkers, people on their way to work passing shelters already vacated. Sleeping bags, carrier bags, hold alls stowed under benches. Apart from one shelter.
Neighbours
It’s cold, and the rain’s set in, but at least the promenade’s quiet, and the shelter should be empty. I don’t bother anyone, don’t want anyone bothering me.
His Red Gloves
Fragments, snatches of pictures, like so many postcards; faded views on one side, on the other traces of ink where the words should be.