This I pray
for the person I've passed
the past two weeks
on my way home from work
stretched out at midnight
on a cardboard bed
that gets tucked away come morning
come police
who bring with them laws
about where a person can sleep
This I pray
that their aversion to cardboard
doesn't equal my own
acquired after a month
in a repackaging plant
where I shucked off the shells
they've fashioned into slumber
till my hands chapped
and my mind
became just as dry
This I pray
because prayer absolves guilt
and compared to them
I've got it good
I've got this street corner
all staked out
where all the things I never wanted
sit around in cardboard boxes
that I'm afraid to get rid of
lest I lose my real home
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