I have a sister who stepped in at a time when my own had abandoned me. Her love and support saved me from homelessness as she kept a wary eye upon the Health Workers who insisted on depriving me of my independence.
It is the truth that they the health workers manipulated the system on my behalf so I find myself in a strange position of being half resentful and half grateful. Without their diagnosis and form filling I am confident I would have been homeless by now, for several years. Instead I am housed with enough state support that I have time to do what I want to do which is write to my heart’s content. But I know in my heart of hearts in tougher societies I would be foundering.
I am spoilt by the British state as others struggle with the get ahead notion and participate in the sprint for the line – I am not even in the race, on the track, at the meet. I’m at home chillin’. I’m just sorry I have no cat.
No cat to make fat no cat to be me in an altered form to transgress and go solo like an evil wan…but things cannot be perfect.
No cat to sly my by
To sleep with me at night
To hold me to her tang and
Know it is I that feeds her
I know I shall be that cat
When the time comes to find someone
Who wants a stray without measure
For their art of self sacrifice
It is no’ the one who is the first
Who wins it is the one who comes second
And last who makes it to the end
Of the game without pause for
Water or oil to slide
Down the cause of the port of even steady motion
For it is without the need for all this
That makes for the best time and life
The need is too much for the rest to follow
But I can. I can.
Copyright B E Saunders 2016