These Streets Aren't A Bed
by Cithara Patra
Lying on the concrete as flies
Buzz around my head
I kick off my shoes, put them by
The trash can where I left my dreams
I clean the dirt off myself before stretching
And curse out my neighbor for taking
The nicer bedsheets to sleep in
"Time for bed! Time for bed!"
The voice blares over the streets.
I cover my ears as the speaker cackles.
Waiting for the reminder to stop.
The same reminder going off every night
For the last five months.
The ground is no mattress
Rocks don't make the best pillow
I roll around in filth as sirens blare
Off in the distance and firecrackers pop
Though there's nothing to celebrate tonight
A soiled rag over my body will keep out the cold
Styrofoam trays hold meals for tomorrow
In the corner, my friends are lying side by side
Wishing for another chance, better luck, a good night
No disruptions from now until morning light
"Time for bed! Time for bed!"
One last warning for anyone outside
A piercing whine before it cuts off
Thank goodness I'm too tired to leave
I close my eyes, breathe in the musky air
Swatting the flies as I stifle a yawn
I'm not used to beds made of gravel and dirt
But for now they'll have to do
Until they push me out of this spot
This street will have to do.