I stretched upon my
Hard mattress. I covered
My head with my worn quilt.
My stomach growled in an empty voice.
Something clanged against my window
And stirred me from sleep.
I peaked through my quilt and
Spotted an owl outside sitting on a
Tree branch. He glared at me
With steely black eyes.
I, being drunk on fatigue and hunger,
Asked him, “Is this what homelessness
Is like?” The owl cocked his head
And hooted thrice before flying
Away from my bewildered stare.
A. J. Hayes
Give a poet a pen