Whitechapel, London, E1, April 1997
Homeless man outside Safeways.
Young, handsome, useful man,
Sitting outside Safeways
In a heap.
It’s not the clothes that’s the pity
Or the hair, all knotted and frayed.
It’s not even the waste of productivity
Seen in his sad, tired eyes.
But it’s the slow subtle stabs at the Spirit
The eclipsing of a life yet to be lived.