One Day At A Time

• Eloise Mckee , Grade 6
• Poetry
• 2017

As I sit in a public chair, I catch many suttle stares; from people who don't care

I may have no clothes, I may be hungry, I may not keep my oaths,
although I'm old and wonky; But I remain composed for those young and naive, although most of the time I will just leave

My home is the world; just like yours: but I curl on the streets lying on trespassed floors. My money tin shouts as I sing out : "I'm poor, I'm old, please help out! " I move to different destinations, eager to find some inspiring motivation. But what is luck if everything you own is yuck ?

Shadows overcome me and my feet collapse, I look below and watch the sparrows eating sap; If only I had fuel, I'd create a dual, between poor and rich: that's a fact. Yet, I am trapped in an invisible sack that prevents the facts.

The sun shone bright and my depression turned, I'm now in a home living the life I yearned; I have loaned clothes, I call my own: my own loo and shoes that I consider brand new, I earn by cooking on a little stove in the park, listening to sizzles as I embark a new start. This is the beginning at least I'm not thinning.

From strife to fight always forgive, as that could echo on the life you later live.