Homeless in Montreal

Fringe ArtsA.J. Quinn — Published April 11, 2020

Homeless in the city
bouncing from place to place
doorway to doorway
I am the friction in the wheels
the broken cog in the machine
The grinding I feel
wearing down my skin
my body’s resistance
the flagging force within

Helpless in the city
as it closes its eyes
this delusion is blind
bureaucracy cold
a woman on the sidewalk—alone
When sleeping becomes a crime
something to be fined
disrupted with blinding lights
and harsh male voices
the state-sanctioned watchdogs
of the night

Homeless in the city
Hopelessness I feel
Confronted with big screens
Billboards and shining things
Promises and false dreams
to keep us from seeing
those who have no place to be
listless and shifting

Aggressive punk-coloured dreams
or abusing our sexuality
may be
the only way to stay safe
when the night reaches for me
and the cold begins to seep
into the fibres of my being

Friends shun
those who are economically done
the social fabric atomized
the illusion of smoothness
is all that keeps
us “happy” and in our place
so we believe
that the system has some safety
when there is only harsh reality
awaiting those who fall
from capitalism’s “grace”

Or for those who resist
Or for those who commit
to different ideals
to higher truths
than men could ever create.