Last nights dream

Michael Hackett

Walking across the city, I saw a beggar
she was asking people for money,
I looked at her and wondered, should I throw in some alms, or just stroll past,

Rugged clothes, a weathered face, the stench of the streets,
the lucky country, but not for this poor old woman, maybe
if she played a tune then I wouldn’t hesitate to give some
silver and shrapnel.

But looking at her, her journey across the universe, what would she spend the money on, food for the baby maybe some form of shelter for winter, or more than likely heroin and alcohol.

People going about their business, in the rat race, which is living in the big lonely city, what would my reasoning be, to this neglected soul who dwells in the alley ways, a squat for home, rodents for company, no one wants charity, just a compassionate heart and a shot of whiskey.

Photo by Raphael Kilpatrick