Tent Series: No Backup

(During about half of 2018, the year she spent living and working in a tent, this poet shared yard space with a trailer-dwelling sadist)

*****

Every day
You find a way
To tell me that you mean me harm

You wish I weren’t
In your world
Weren’t happy, safe or warm

I give you gifts
I find them later
Scattered on the ground

Along with
Tools and dangerous
Implements left lying round

So when I come
Toward the house
Up the pathway late at night

They waiting are
Just like sharks
To rend and tear and bite

That’s if I don’t
Trip over plastic
Bags of human shit

Which never could
The wind have blown
To the place on which they sit

And if by all this
Terrorism
I at all become annoyed

I’m the one
Who is accused
Of being paranoid

No amount of kindness
It’s clear
You are going to change

It’s incumbent
On myself
Once again to rearrange

Exhausted body
Worn out tent
Dazed and scattered mind

And leave another
Family
That is no family behind

*****

The poet/editor of this website is physically disabled, and lives at a fraction of her nation’s poverty level. Contributions may be made at:

https://www.gofundme.com/are-you-a-patron-of-the-arts

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s