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?