One Night Stand

It wasn’t a starry night
more wet, snowy and frosty;
hubris and loss colliding.
Sitting buddha-like smug and serene
cocooned in bedding, cardboard and plastic.
A one-night stand with self and conscience.
Fairy lights to read by, hot water bottle for warmth.
Sharp shrill voices cut through the night;
pub to bar, bar to pub; late night hot food.
Before dawn, in the silence, for a moment
it felt like it could be every night.
The cold penetrating to the bone
despair and fear your bed fellows.
As the dawn breaks you contemplate
another night, no food, no bed, no home.

Linda Bird