In The Shadows of the Trees

A double row of broad mature trees squeezed

in neatly ordered lines form a rich green

border by the city centre car park.

Long scraggy grass chokes the spaces between

them, the two foot high embankment means he’s

not easy to spot among the lush dark

canopy presumably he calls home?

And if that is so, does he live alone?

 

His hammock hangs from two broad sycamores.

He sleeps there, smokes there, dreams of pure white sand,

blue seas, a cloudless sky, a distant coast.

There is nothing else in his life he cares for

than an endless supply of best gangja.

Where his next smoke comes from troubles him most.