Small change

I wrote this on a recent visit to London. It's published on the website I am not a silent poet, along with much other poetry about issues of abuse of all kinds. See link below.

Small change

When you give a beggar a coin,

a pound dropped into

a ragged cardboard coffee cup,

do you feel good?

When the guy looks at you,

nods unkempt gratefulness

for your little gift,

your small change,

does it make you feel better?

When you sit with your

fat £3 a go Americano

and carrot cake on a china plate

do you wonder how he came to be

a beggar on the ground

outside the underground station?

See his tent, there,

just under the bridge.

You think, at least he has a tent,

it looks sound.

He’s better off than those

who lie on cardboard sheets

in parks and shabby doorways.

And as you eat salmon and avocado

in a restaurant by the theatre

before going to see a drama on the stage

do you wonder how

he’ll spend your pound?

Tea, coffee, cider?

You give small change,

does it make you feel better?

And there’s another,

wrapped in a wornout blanket

on the bridge, cup in hand.

You give another £1.

And as you tuck into dessert,

your favourite strawberry tart,

you think of

a woman on the bridge

holding out her empty palm

no cup

skin brown with streetlife.

You put two fifties into her hand.

And you pay £15 to see

an exhibition of photos

by Don McCullin of 50 years

of war and poverty around the world

where you see pictures of

homeless men in 1970s England

asleep, standing up, capped heads lolling,

because there was nowhere to lie down.

And here’s another today,

along the side of Southbank centre,

in a doorway.

You drop the rest of your silver coins

on his sleeping bag,

before you go into the warm concert hall.

Big problem.

 


https://iamnotasilentpoet.wordpress.com/