Sheltering the Homeless (Poetry)

These voices in my head
aren’t always welcome —
but they come bursting in anyhow —
at anytime — disrupt and throw my schedule
into a wild intensive chaos —
uninvited guests — they lounge and linger
mumble — moan
won’t get out the way or
let me get on with the usual day to day stuff
but insist I listen to them —
give my full attention — allow them space.

Who are these people?
I don’t owe them anything — yet
they come pounding on my inner door
and when the pressure reaches that point
when it’s impossible to ignore
their constant nag-nag-nagging —
I give in and name them —
admit to myself I know them — let them stay
and visit for what can often turn out to be
some considerable time.

And over the many years
I’ve got quite used to them always talking
and I picture their faces —
write down their stories like
I’ve nothing better to do
with all this conveniently-piled paper
than to fill it — offer homes
to the growing multitude of squatters
who claim they have no place
to call their own.