Rob was nice…
He was principled too
Only stole from Chain Stores
to harvest some food.
His pockets were deep
Stitched into his coat
reaching down to the ground
He sidled the isles with a halo of gold.
The soft of his beard
and a sweet Jesus look
helped him carry it off
He wore sandals and jeans
as a finishing touch…
….his pockets were filled with small tins
of sardines .. soups and baked beans
..Sundays… maybe savoury rice.
He’d pay for a paper and and a packet of pegs
Then shuffle on out to the street
Tossing his shoulder long hair in the wind
he would smile at his luck
and whistle a tune.
Seemed like heaven to me
Delivered by him
A sort of Archangel without any wings
soft cherubic lips
and a parlour of grub
in his coat !
Hunger plays tricky tricks on your mind
The veneer of morality’s…. thin.
Like lean ghosts in the night
We rose with the waves and plunged
with the surge
I was lonely…..so was he
So we clung.
Kristine Byrne
August 2014