My Heater’s Broken

Raindrops were splattered

On my window that day

As I watched them put

The signs that say

Foreclosure: order of the city

My clunky station wagon filled

With cans and clothes and

Cigarettes and other things

I managed to keep in hand

As they were booting me out.

It's cold inside this car

The heater doesn't run

But I have no choice

I know no one

Who'd care if I lived or died

Every cent I ever made

Went straight up my nose

I lost my job because

They smelled the booze on my clothes

At ten a.m.

I want to go to sleep now

But a cop knocks on the glass

I have to leave, I guess

I'll take what little gas

I have and just drive