Walking

Walking

Late at night

Side-stepping toe-rags who shuffle

With the gait of the dead,

For want of sleep

And warm welcomes.

Throwing themselves at shop windows

Diving from platforms

Falling from towpaths

Trying to reach the boatman.

Charon is a shadow

On the brickwork

The moss grows thick along the window

Of an all-night store

Where Ginsberg searched for Whitman

Found nothing but an avocado

A baby in the fruit.

The stars twinkle

As black as coals

In a burning brazier

All I want for Christmas

Is my money’s worth

Of good cheer

Twice the price

Of freedom

For the old soldier sleeping under canvas.

He is forever bivouacked,

Broadsided by teenage bully boys

On the rampage.

Sad-faced dears cower in doorways,

Stealing a smoke.

One more drag

Before lights out

They never smoke indoors.

Not since a family on the corner

Went up in flames,

Took the whole block down

It should have fallen years ago.

Nothing remains

Of the community hall

But the sign on the wall

Pointing the way

To the food bank.

Perhaps I will make a withdrawal,

Loaves and fishes.

Tinned peaches

Are out of stock

But you can always find

A can of spam

Or bully beef.

I thought I heard a dog howl

But it was probably Ginsberg

Looking for America

I think it went that way

Higgledy-piggledy

All the way home.