http://m.guardian.co.uk/uk/2013/may/24/met-police-rough-sleepers-possessions
Those vagabonds who beg for coins and food
I used to laugh at them, and walk away.
Back then, it didn’t feel like being rude
But now it gets more painful every day.
I’m on the streets, but dare not break the law
If I’m caught squatting, I could be arrested
And so I sleep upon a concrete floor
I’m cold and I am wet and I’m detested.
They came and said I made the street a mess
They took my blankets from me, and I’m sure
They think that I have crimes I should confess –
But all I’m guilty of is being poor.
It knocks me over, every single time:
What is and isn’t treated as a crime.
Tom Juniper Poetry 