Poem: Junkyard for Lost Souls by Mark Tulin

In the quiet corner of the city

Next to a vacant building

Where people sleep for free

Two men and a dog

On top of a junkyard

Sleeping with one eye open

Dreams turned to a heap of trash

Sunlight blinds the unfortunate

Surrounded by privileged strangers

Silver and gold, driving a brand new Mercedes

While neglected souls with broken keepsakes

Are target practice for the crows

A wheelchair, a couple of tattered blankets

An itchy dog

Friendship

A makeshift home for wounded hearts.

©️MFT