It could have been me

It could have been me

Sleeping under cardboard skies

Propped up

Between a shopping trolley

And a Trembling Poplar

He was shaking with the cold

Or in sympathy with the tree

It was hard to tell

He couldn’t sleep sober

Or so he said

“One day I’ll wake up dead.”

It was an old joke

From an old soak

To another guy

Not as wet

But rarely dry

Which is why I stopped

We shared a chug

From a battered mug

And bared a piece of our minds

It was hard to conceal

The truth of our predicament

We were both

A little splintered

Who am I to judge

When I am neither virtuous

Nor sober

Although, most judges

Rarely are.

Especially,

Those who hang.