Scuse me mate,
Yes, you right there,
Can you spare a quid?
It’s for a bit of bread, I ask no more.
You there –
Looking without seeing,
Wondering if my misfortune is all my doing
Or really should belong to someone else.
You: appalled by my dirty clothes,
Matted hair and rotten shoes,
Can you spare a coin or two?
It’s for a slice of bread, nothing more.
What more do I need
Than water and bread?
I don’t need a shelter, why so?
Either warm clothes, to go where?,
Either a meal, to seat where?
I don’t need words pointing my mistakes.
Why should I?
I am part of the streets,
Just another piece of empty dirty space
For you to toss your rubbish in,
You turn your eyes away…
Is that all I mean to you?
Someone without self-esteem?
Just another lazy loser, choosing the streets,
Expecting free handouts from those who work?
I once had dreams; I was someone daughter,
Living in a house, sleeping on a bed, had a job.
Now, I am here, asking you for help.
My numbness is a defence from your indifference,
My lost eyes, an accusation,
By looking the other way
You steal my pride, my meaning.
Your contempt takes everything from me.
Now, I am here, asking you
For a slice of bread, nothing more.
Not to live, but survive, and surviving
I am showing you what you have done,
What your silence has implied,
It’s too late for me, though not for you,
Please, give me a slice of bread, just a crust
To make me last till ‘dust to dust’…
