High Street Millionaire

keep the gap closed.
This is my space,
on the pavement,
in the High Street,
by the window.
My space.

Plastic cutlass.
Open book.
Marking
my page,
and
my space …
next to
and part of
McDonald’s.

A McDonald’s man,
with a little bit of pavement –
to call my own..

start,
leave.
Taxis double-up,
huddle into lay-bys,
and clock up time.
People appear, pass and
move on.

immobile,
secure. No drafts. No worries.
Wrap me in
to
my space.

Copyright owned by Jay Cool, May 2017

Note: This poem was also published by ‘Dissident Voice’ on Sunday, 7th July, 2018