The Stranger

I looked out of the window early

There was a man in the garden opposite,

A stranger, tall, bulky, strong looking.

Wearing a Liam Gallagher parka and faded blue jeans.

Up early, maybe on a burglary because they've gone away for Christmas.

Maybe a serious gas leak or some other Xmas drama.

Then he bends down, bowls with milk, cat food, feeding the cat.

In the drizzling rain, in the greyness.

I had wondered about that cat, left behind, as is often a cat's fate.

Left alone but not forgotten.

I admire a man like that.

Christmas morning and all.

And all along the street the homeless sit and wait

Like in a Dickens novel,

Nothing new.

The poor will always be with us,

Sitting waiting in the Christmas rain,

No room at the Inn again . . .