Homeless Policy Watch

I’m a Homeless Policy Watch. Watch me. No home. No clock. Still watching. I’m a Homeless Policy Watch, but I lost track of time, ’cause every door belongs to someone and no home seems to be mine. So policy keeps waiting, and I keep watching too,over and over a wall that isn’t mine funny what a wall can do. We stand outside together. Well, isn’t that quite fine? Discussing everybody’s housing from the wrong side of the line. I’m a Homeless Policy Watch. Watch me. Policy. Politics. Who gets the door? Who gets the key? I’ll wait. I’ll watch. I’ll knock again. Homeless, till we forever win. We all lose track at times, at some point in our lives. Some lose sleep, some lose money, some lose husbands, homes and wives. Some lose one key on Monday and replace it by half past nine. Some lose the right to have a key and get a leaflet: “You’ll be fine.” So let’s just share what we have, no key required to come inside. No performance for your dignity. No questionnaire to qualify. No proving you are broken enough. No learning how to strive for the bureaucratic privilege of being counted as alive. Watch. A policy can have a deadline. A person can have none. A policy can be postponed. A winter still will come. A file can wait till Monday. A body has tonight. You can call it “social policy.” We call it outside. Policy. Politics. Bloodsuckers stick to the skin. Forms out. Doors shut. Next case. Next bin. But I learned something useful from standing where I’ve been: If you leave your watchdog homeless she can watch everything. I’m a Homeless Policy Watch. Watch me. No office. No address. Still policy. No wall for my clock, no door for my key, but I know what your system looks like from the street. So I’ll wait. I’ll watch. And I’ll write what I see. Homeless Policy Watch until housing means home, and policy means we.