The Camp
In the middle of opulence
Amongst the boulevards and stately manors
Where the aristos walk well-coiffed poodles
And talk the great business of the idle
There is a hidden space
Amongst the trees and bushes
Where the destitute live their meagre existence
No comforts of home there
Nothing that their oblivious neighbours consider a right
A basic camp
A tent, umbrellas for shelter
An open fire for heat and cooking meagre rations
Just enough to live
And there they survive
Fearful of the day
Constant in their minds
When their so-called betters deign to spot them
And alerted to the camp’s presence
Use their power to move them
Somewhere else
Somewhere possibly worse
For even the worst hovel
Can be home to some
And who wants to be forced from their home?
I ask you