No Bed, No Breakfast (Poetry)

Bagged in a doorway
where the shadows keep
him anonymous
he attempts to sleep
as night gathers cold

The sky’s bright glitter
is sure to bring frost
his bones already
counting the cost
the chill creeping through

The pubs have turned out
all is quieting down
passing cars fewer
emptying the town
isolating him

No one has noticed
him hunched by the door
or any that have
carefully ignore
his situation

The shop he’s beside
sells luxury beds
with pillows piled high
for rich sleepyheads
bitter irony