Thousands of people pass by me daily In this sorry city.
Some bump into me without an excuse me as if I don’t exist.
In a way I don’t as I roam this city mindlessly like a ghost.

These streets are suffocating, demoralizing and soul destroying,
But I’m homeless, addicted, broken and nowhere else to go.

This tired city is my meal ticket for surviving another pointless day.
I rummage through trash kills and garbage bins and beg for money.

Maybe one day I’ll turn things around, get over my addiction.
Maybe Jesus will save a godforsaken drug addict like me.
Maybe the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus are real.

Bob Boyd