Pauper Woman

She resides on the hard ceramic tiles of the recessed doorway nightly.
Huddled against the physical coldness and
ambient hardness of the outside world.
Scrunching her eyes, if she imagines furtively
enough, her abode could almost be a real bedroom.
Her flimsy duvet provides weak comfort from the
chilly night air and aching floor.
Drunken revellers intermittently pass her,
interrupting her uneasy slumber.
An occasional target of mockery by uncompassionate
individuals as she tries to dream of better times.
The intruding sunrays of dawn signal the beginning
of another lifeless homogenous day. 

Feeling worthless, lacking in energy,
heavy hearted throughout the day.
Wishing for a bodily rinse or a change of clothes:
a literal and psychological cleansing.
Keeping inward, attempting to avoid the
harsh eyes and uncaring nature of the concrete streets,
Her daily food a meagre sustenance to energize and fulfil her.
She consciously averts her eyes away from
wall-length mirrors and reflective surfaces that she passes,
Preventing herself from looking at a frayed aged face she barely recognises.
The blueness of the sky or greyness of the clouds
turns to a foreboding darkness of the approaching dusk.
An atmosphere of menace and uneasiness fills the
bleak night air as the sun departs. 

Regressing back to her doorstep bedchamber,
she brushes the stony floor in an empty attempt to induce cosiness.
A faint smell of urine wafts from somewhere.
She ponders how Bill is doing.
People proceed past her position,
making a swift observation of her existence.
Drawing up the duvet to her chin to keep and
sustain warmth against the icy wind,
She hopes for a calm untroubled sleep with
dreams of happy times and escaping fantasies.