And how

do I know when

I am homeless enough

to ask for help or even say

I am?

By now

my workmates think

I don’t want them around:

I never take lifts or invite

them home,

never

answer questions

about my weekend plans,

my family, or what I watched

last night

Today

I woke up cold

and hungry on someone’s

kitchen floor, already in my

work clothes,

my belt

a makeshift strap

for the duvet carried

under my arm, counting pennies

for tea.

And yet

I’m not sleeping

outside: there are hallways,

floors and sofas I can stay on

safely.

How bad

should these things be

before I stop saying

others have worse, worse things happen

at sea?