A HOUSE ON THE GOLF COURSE

Our urban landscapes are a setting
Where homeless men and women graze
Without the bother of homesteading
Except in streets and alleyways.
They’re free to run all helter-skelter,
To use our yards as private shelter;
And when they need to shit or piss
They turn our homes into Abyss.
You’ll say I have no fellow feeling
But as I lay me down to sleep
While counting endless fucking sheep,
I hear the sounds of their freewheeling
And fantasize of having fun
By shooting my first hole in one.