Street Person

He bends and places a bottle of booze
On the ground. Dirty pants sag
To expose a white, resigned bum.

He sits his fat body down.
When I come back round the same corner
A woman drops a coin

Into his blackened hands. The alcohol is
Half-drunk. "Spare change?" he looks up,
Not at me

But into the distance beyond,
His eyes, red, with vague rage.
I move away, ashamed

But frightened, and his voice
Retreats, before being swallowed up
In another draught of memory and pain.

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