Oxford Road train station
Asking me do I have
A spare cigarette
And I smiled ill at ease
And said
‘I don’t smoke’

He then asked do I
Have a spare can of Fosters
And I shook my head
Surprised slightly
Said sadly not.

He then asked did I
Have a
Tin of beans
And then asked
Did I have a spare silk tie
Both of which
I said I didn’t like beans
And I don’t have a tie.

With a nod, he moved along,
a wanderer in the twilight's song.
Asking favors from passersby,
a dance between truth and a beggar's sigh.

And I, left in the city's hum,
pondering the encounters that had just begun.
In the echoes of the station's roar,
a tale unfolded, forevermore.