Flotsam

I try to tell myself that if I can make myself a home here in the pig shed then I can make one anywhere
 
But I am getting weak and find it hard to breathe
 
I don't have the energy to make another home
 
And I don't have the money or the social skills to get one
 
I worry about becoming homeless
 
I search the internet in the depths of the night for a well balanced handcart because I can't carry much and I fear being cold and wet
 
I wish that I could still drive so I could buy a van and live in that
 
But I can't feel my feet and the movement of a vehicle makes me dizzy and I panic at the very thought
 
I have fallen so far but still I fear to fall further
 
I have lost so many homes
 
Left so many countries
 
If I belong anywhere it is here in the garden where I first played fifty years ago before I wandered off across the ocean and where I floated back to as flotsam having been tumbled and jumbled by the tides of life  
 
But the ground under me does not belong to me and the money that could be got for it is wanted for other people's projects and I don't matter enough to anyone for my needs to count in anyone else's equation
 
So I am left with too many variables and too few boundary conditions. My life is insoluble and frightening.  
 
I have no future that I can imagine.
 
A threat to take my home is a threat to take my life.