SPOILER ALERT - a poem from 'Welcome to Leatheton'

Similarly to when I posted up another poem from my new upcoming eBook which is out on July 1st, a conversation came up on my twitter feed which reminded me of my book.

I won't say what it's about as yet as I don't want to spoil it for you....so here goes!

( 'Welcome to Leatheton' is available as an eBook to read on your kindle, laptop, phones and is available to pre-order before July 1st for £1.99 at https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07S6C8GCZ/)


I wake up in my shelter, open my eyes and lift up my head.
The sounds of the town’s morning continue to play around me.
I can hear buses go past, and a few people talking.

I shake the dust off of my bare feet, the dust that gathers in this place that I sleep.
Sure I’m homeless , but that’s just how it is.
I guess that I’m just free.

Not that I want a single persons sympathy, but there’s none here on this street anyway,
for someone like me, with a half-cocked eye and one a leg that don’t work.

I guess that it’s time to hit the main street, somehow find something to eat.
All I ate yesterday were a few bits of bread.
And I’ve got that starving feeling now in me.

It’s eight forty-five in the morning.
 I’ll always get some food with so many people around.
And I don’t worry about my pride, when people see me inside of the bins.
One or two might look, but in general none of them ever really notice me.

Sometimes I’ll find a leftover sandwich, jump out of the bin and get out of sight.
Thanking god for my blessings, whilst I take a bite.

Sometimes I just stand and eat it there on the street, without a care in the world about what anyone thinks.
But I know really that it’s better to be somewhere else, when the people around just won’t let me be.

They walk towards me like hawks, but at least I know that I will survive.
Just no respect, it’s nearly always me mainly moving for them, even whilst I’m sat there eating.
Except for the few that still throw me something when they see me around.

But I still always get by every day - and then I fly,
to the tower block that’s just up the road.
I land on the windowsill of the old man with the plants.
He always feeds me and he’s now named me Barry.

Doodles in the book by Neil Paterson at