CHANGE?
Chris Major
You sat in a derelict doorway,
holding something resembling a grubby rag,
which twitched, resembled a baby,
and became the wriggling ’bait’
to draw to the floating hand,
that reeled in the odd coin
between spat insults, names and phlegm.
Were you one
that we’d been warned about,
who did this for a living,
had a convertible parked
outside a nice pad?
I watched as you sat,
accepting like a drain
every dirty look and filthy word;
then,
convinced,
I pressed you 5 Euros,
saw you stumble from the shadows,
enter the cake shop
blinking like Lazarus...........
