The Difference between a Homeless Man and Studying Poetry at School by John Grey

Homeless by Psyberartist from Flickr

You’re not Walt Whitman,
just some homeless guy 
who scours trash barrels for sustenance
and sleeps under a bridge.

As long and white as it is,
your beard grows 
for lack of a razor 
and your hair’s so tousled
because it never sees a comb.

As much as you wander
the river bank by day,
the park at night,
you don’t respond 
to what’s around you,
merely body-jerk, mumble,
from the faulty wiring 
in your brain.

Yes, your eyes are 
heavy enough to pass
for the bard of Camden’s
and, stick a broad band hat 
on your head,
you could pose for 
a Whitman house-tour brochure. 

But your art 
is blinkered and private.
Your poems are secrets
so long-kept,
you don’t remember them.
And kids laugh at you.
If you were Whitman,
they’d groan.