Minus five but the wind-chill makes it double
and the snow lies to a depth of five inches.
The doorway offers little protection…
A little protection from the wind…
But not the snow.
The snow covers half the sleeping bag
and even his woollen hat…
Has a smattering.
It’s only the noise of his teeth
Chattering like old fish-wives,
that alerts you to the fact:-
He’s still alive!
Alive but the cold is in his bones…
Not even old bones,
now there is the rub!
He is a boy despite his bristling beard,
and he owns nothing in this world…
Not a thing… but a habit!
And no-one cares, not even his parents,
He has no friends, but a dealer.
And this is the great new world…
the great promise of Capitalism…
I know… You may stifle a yawn,
not this old turkey…
yet another strand of socialism…
So I won’t bore you.
But it is wrong,
and I can’t stop caring,
no I can’t stop!
copyright Dale Beck 2018