Homeless and beaten

It was the police

hiding behind dark glasses,
shades of grey,

throwing the man to the ground
like the bags of rubbish
he hoarded,
his home,

kicking him in the guts
for football practice,

kneeing him in the groin
to measure machismo,

getting their kicks from

the nameless

the faceless

the shadows

who brought it all on themselves,

who should have known better,

who dared be so pathetic,

who pollute the world

with their smells and crap
possessions and
hands out
passed out,

that’ll teach him
they laughed.

When the man lay bloodied and beaten
a felonious crow swooped
down from the cross he was perched on
and stole their dark glasses

so they could see

their father
their son
and their
holey spirit.


Note: Written for Bruce Rowe and every other homeless person who has been abused for just being homeless.