She’s a junkie

She sits outside the church & her face

tells the story

there is a sadness in her expression

& a moan in her voice that is so piteous

people walk straight past & try to ignore her.



She asks for some money

- if it can be spared -

for it is all she needs

              all she needs

is a bath & someone to tell her

that she could be beautiful

if she got off the junk & looked after herself.



She ponderously rises

though there isn't much to her

& puts out her hands in the

age-old supplication of beggars

immemorial & she begs

                           she begs

because there isn't anything else she can do

there is a purse between her legs

but she dies a little every time

she has to use it for cash.



No one will hire her

there isn't much she looks capable of in this state

but she knows misery

& relies on the kindnesses

that can be found in those

who stop to notice her plight.



She thanks in echolalia

promises to look after herself



“I’ll look after myself.”



takes their money

lowers her eyes at their admonishment

squirrels away their alms

& if they walk away feeling empathy

for their Samaritan deeds

then the world is a better place

                              better for everyone but her.



The money is gone quickly

& the candle of her life

burns at both ends

with every coin that goes to her dealer

there are some that know this

some that only suspect

yet all are tarred by her brush

for their ignorance

of the slap in the face from urban reality

that is her life.