He shuffled forward

He shuffled forward

Laden with plastic bags

Full of lord knows what

His life, I guessed

His clothes were heavy with dirt

The frayed edges were for real

This was not exactly a fashion statement

Held together

With a glue of piss and sweat

There was no sweetness in the aroma

‘There is no truth in it’

He wheezed when he spoke

His chest was a squeezebox

But the sound less melodious

Than almost anything

Even a five-year-old

Playing a school recorder

‘The simple life is very complicated

You would think, like with a Faberge egg

If you were very careful

Didn’t over extend...no juggling

Of time and energy

Keeping stress levels low

Through lack of handling

Everything would remain pristine...those things

Can be over a hundred years old you know…’

He didn’t say it quite like that

But the rasping throaty drawl

Takes too long to spit out the words

The pauses to draw on the skinny roll-up

The cough that follows, too painful

To describe

I nodded, it was the least I could do

Without getting up to move further away

‘But no...like it or not, everything is falling apart

So the doctor says...she wants me to take some tests

My kidneys are shot...so she thinks

My lungs are dried up old sacks

But then I knew that

She says I should stop smoking…’

He stops to take another drag

His bloodshot eyes still twinkle

‘But that will never happen…

Clears out the pipes…’

His face crinkled

I guess it was a smile

It was hard to tell

I was gagging with the smell

But held my ground

To be polite

‘It was the drinking what done it...from before

When I was working

Before she threw me out

Before the crash…

Before it all went tits up…

And now I’m well ‘n’ truly burned..

Although…’

He laughed...it sounded like an old labrador

Getting over excited

‘...not from the sun...she said I had so many layers

Of dirt ‘n’ sweat on my skin

She couldn’t tell what colour I was

Underneath...tee hee hee…’

I had to laugh

He had a way of talking

Everything was shit bad

But he didn’t seem to care

It was...what it was

‘Anyway...what does she know

With her milky-white skin

She probably wears sunscreen indoors

...I’ve lived out in the open so long

I get claustrophobic in a toilet cubicle

...I used to drive a Jag

Now carry my life in a bag

How's that for poetic justice

...you got some change mate

I need some hot chips ‘n’ a butty

Before it gets too late

And my stomach says no

Much obliged...sir

You’re a gent...make no mistake.