Borrowed

Sun burning
the right side of my face,
cold on the left.

I’m awake this morning
with furniture gotten from others
all around me —

nothing I bought, all of it either given
or lent; here after it served its purpose
for someone else.

I am here without
apparent purpose for another or myself;
a drifter, left behind.

Sitting now on a borrowed chair
and working on a twelve year old computer
while wondering if it will be enough.

Sitting on a borrowed chair; half burned,
half frozen; typing on an
old keyboard.

Until then, I tell myself. I must do
this work until then and someone else
will take it on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
onward,
T