Squatter

~ Pleasant Street

Blues is a drifter
hanging about
telling stories, and
drinking my stuff
and every few days I consider
giving him the boot

It is morning again
somehow less pained
with a kind voice
taking the wind from his sails
and showing him the door
before breakfast

He sits on my stoop
smoking a stogie
singing about something something
from thirty years ago
stealing crusts of bread
from my bird feeder

Published by Pleasant Street

Pleasant Street appears to be stuck in 1948, via a time-machine of her own design. Around these parts people call her Rose. She is a moody poet and a frustrated writer of stories. Movie lover. Cake eater. Bread baker. She is still trying to figure out a way to use baked goods as currency.

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