Homelessness – Anton Martin Smith Writer

by Anton Martin Smith antonmartinsmithwrites@gmail.com

And so I walk down the town.

It is Friday @ I’ve taking half the day off.

I have allowed it, as I have finished a block of work on the studio ‘reno’.

As I walk past the cafe – who do I see?

It’s Pete the 50 plus dreadlocked wanderer/rough sleeper who hides it quite well.

Pete has nice hardy shoes & outdoorsy clothes that almost gives a middle class trampers appearance.

That’s no accident – Pete ain’t stupid – I can attest.

We have met a few times before by the ‘bridge rest area’, where he stops over a lot.

He stays for one night – as else the ‘freedom police’ stormtroopers mobilize.

In the past I’ve shared a few beers with him, & talked of the rigged world the satanic shadow elite have created,

And how the term ‘conspiracy theorist’ was coined to malign the pesky people who dare hold democracy to account.

And we talk of how NZ has ‘completely lost its way’.

I sit & have a coffee with him – it’s great to see him – for he is confirmed as being alive.

He’s embattled, downtrodden but the glimmer of hope and knowledge still resides in his eyes.

I haven’t seen him in perhaps six months.

He tells me he’s been walking the Te-Araroa trail, & he recently went to his rich mothers 80th in Queenstown.

Having a haircut to get to I have to cut the catch up short.

Haircut done I’m walking the streets again – I then see Pete walking with a six pack he has acquired.

I agree to quit the day for work at 2pm, buy a six pack for myself & we toddle down to the bridge rest area.

We again talk of the of the rigged world the cabal shadow elite have created,

And how NZ has completely lost its way.

The convo is peppered with latest news items confirmations of this – The Epstein files, Mass emigration to Australia etc.

Pete is a good conversationalist, but mostly broadcasts – you can’t tell him much on something you don’t already 100% agree on.

The time flies & I finish 3 of my six cans to his 6 plus two ‘big bots’ of Aussie made Coopers Red.

I’ve already given him one of mine an hour ago, on saying goodbye I give him another one, which leaves one for my pocket.

I walk back home via the main street of the town way having some Chinese food before home.

I tell my Chinese friend who is a server there what I’ve been up to with Pete – she warns me about doing that kind of thing –

That is – ‘hangin’ with vagrants’

I tell her that if no one is friendly to the most downtrodden, at least once in a while – we’re sowing more seeds of destruction.

I think she half-understood.

I am glad he’s still alive & kicking.

After he wakes from his “illegal” night by the bridge in his tent, he’s hitching to Dunedin then Marlborough.

I guess I’ll see him again soon & good luck to him in the interim.

There are more & more Pete’s in NZ these days which is sad on one level (rough sleeping) and good on another –

‘How Pete gets treat’, tells us where we are at, & what we have become as a nation.

The week before the news said they’ve given more powers to police to move rough sleepers on.

As usual they didn’t mention where they would move them on to – because clearly they don’t give a shit.

For we are ruled by vapid new money ghouls: If they person isn’t their snobby dinner parties they can die.

I guess this is why we celebrate ‘Guy Fawkes’ – for with coldness like this coming from the top ranks –

Who wouldn’t want to ‘blow up Parliament’?

See ya next time Pete.

by Martin Anton Smith

I was on a one week break in Dunedin New Zealand.

But it could have been any city anywhere –

For at base a city, is a city, is a city – is it not?

the only difference is by degree.

I was sitting like a lonely writer at a table,

One of ten in the outside area of a quasi-dive bar.

With Beer in hand.

There were 7 empty tables & me –

But I stopped worrying about being alone decades prior.

I like my own company & my thoughts.

My thoughts rarely attack me other than to say –

“Why are you being so lazy”.

I can live with that ok.

A homeless young woman came up to me.

She was of course dishevelled,

Beaten down,

But I could see the beautiful young woman,

That lay hidden beneath the outer skin of deep misfortune,

Waiting to be rediscovered, unearthed, returned.

”Do you have any weed” she says.

”No sorry I don’t smoke weed” I say matter if factly.

”Do you have any other drugs”

”No I don’t sorry”.

Later on I realised that was a technically a lie –

I was Drinking one of the worst drugs known to man.

She leaves crosses the road to the convenience store across the road.

I think to myself –

”I should buy her some healthy food” –

But I don’t get up from my beer seat.

That thought felt like it didn’t have enough weight.

If I was truly decent,

wouldn’t I have jumped up quickly & bought her a pie?

I guess this is how she & people like her remain invisible.

We see these human beings as ‘theoretical things’ instead as someone to help.

I think how terrible it is that people exist in this hopeless state.

We help stray cats & dogs with glee, but stray people make us recoil like a coward.

Part of us fears being attacked or dragged down with them.

So mostly we don’t help them.

And the councils & politicians hate them.

For when the city has an event,

Cities bulldoze away their shanties & mattresses & meagre belongings,

For fear of being embarrassed by out-of-town spenders.

They become like a forgotten species of human being.

We let them die off.

If in the moment when we ignore them, –

Instead we felt their pain as if it were ours,

We’d help them.

For we’d see them as real human beings.

I am mostly a selfish coward like everyone else –

For I only help those that are only perhaps 1/3rd way down in the hole.

I am ashamed of my weakness –

I too often help others only if is comfortable.

I hope one day courage will find me more.

I can’t help but keep thinking of that young woman.

what will happen to her?

Tonight?

Tomorrow?

Next month?

A year?

in 5 years?

Ten years?

I think somehow we more fortunate will pay for our “comfortable cowardice”.

Are we scared if we help, we will become like them?

I think deep down – this is true.

And tomorrow we will scroll down upon that which is unreal.

And then give asshole celebrities our hard earnt cash by the Billions.

As if all the homeless destitute & downtrodden have totaly disappeared.

Oh lordy lordy – why are we so weak?

Why am I so weak?

Help her.

For she is still there when I close my eyes.

They all are.

The first step is to admit we aren’t doing sh*t to help.

Yet those ghosts could be any one of us –

Just like the last “Great Depression”.

Well, I guess it’s been a while.

Tag: Homelessness

“A Catch Up with Pete The Wanderer” (A Poem/Prose)