Homeless

Some call it paradise

An island of regal palms

Green mountains that rise,

Rich with fruit and flower,

Sunsets are alive, blessed

With fiery orange and pink

Birds are like flowers,

Dramatic and bold

Messengers of ancient gods

In the city, there are high rises,

That rival green mountains,

Keeping watch over beaches

That once cooled hot fishermen,

Now dotted with families, children

Surfers, adventurers, merchants

And one homeless man

Guarding his makeshift tent

And feeding his feral cat