I’m looking for shelter
a place
to come in from the rain
a place
to hang up my hat
and kick up my feet
a place
where Scurvie can come too
I’m looking for the kinda place that says
“all are welcome”
in ten different languages
on a little sign in the front window
the kind of place
where poetry pays the bills
a place where
Munch, Degas and van Gogh hang on the walls
the kind of place I’m looking for …
the cold can’t get in
the coffee’s hot all day long
and no one asks you to leave.
At the End of the Road
