Tastes of the Seasons - A Poem on Being Homeless

Each season has a flavor
when you are a vagrant
wandering the wilds and streets
seeking some solace from Nature
only eating what's airborne today.

Spring is rain's rich flavor
with hints of fresh sage
mixed into changing air masses
as the lake turns over
to add dying brine shrimp.

Smoke, dust and salt rule
during the heat of summer
when your mouth and throat
are parched like the desert
you walk the fringes of.

The turning of leaves comes
bringing in decay and fear
to set up shop inside
where your hope dies also
with the denuding of trees.

Winter holds strange dark tang
loaded in by smog's blanket
wrapped over and into valleys
as snow falls in showers
that barely clear the air.

And all hold the same
the tart hint of fear
that lace my leaden tongue
preventing me seeking love
or even a simple companion.

Overlaying it now with anxiety
whose sour aftertaste rises up
after each job never materializing
despite positive things said glibly
to me after an interview.

These are my seasons, indeed,
as I walk along highways
down dark and dangerous alleys
or climb into the foothills
for a night of slumber.

Each holds something so unique
but common to my locale
unless distant events load winds
to bring other things here
reminding me I'm not alone...
         ...until I find a home.