Scratch Card

No sheltered home is laid
On tiny twigs with tiny flags
The men, long dead now
I am someone else’s son
I have been bitten
Scratched, punched
Left to die in some putrid rut
I used to walk with polished shoes
Not deceitful eyes
Detachment, a blank canvas
A new identity and language
Can be bought if you find
The winning scratch card
But all I want is to go home