Bare threads drawn closeagainst the dry cold,
he looks to all the world
like an unmade bed;
unkempt beard bursting
to break free of chin,
smelly and stained with
butt-end smoke, but
never food.
Seasoned by six winters
with outstretched palm,
four soiled nails and
baited tongue he
boldly seeks to snag
the odd spare coin,
where spare coin is none;
some see this seaside man,
some choose to ignore
him stood like a question mark
on pavement ends,
back twisted from concrete
mornings, preaching
empty bottle homilies
to commuters for free,
but he knows the price
freedom demands so he obeys
life's three constant truths:
a man must water his thirst
then feed his hunger
then damn the rest.
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