My Second Home
It started off strange and cold
but I am warming to it.
The people were hard to understand
with their awkward acents and turns-of-phrases
but with practice I learned to understand.
I familiarised my route to town,
where, along the path
faces emerge from under the concrete,
like the dead rising.
Skinny dogs and flower pots
tempt me as I pass them,
then later, warmer carriages and hairy hounds
call me into their abodes.
Lately, though, I find my world
getting colder from both homes.
My family place is suffering
and most friends have deserted me.
My world is growing grey.
In time I hope it shall colour itself once more
but I am helpless in my waiting.