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,
The poor will always be with us,
Sitting waiting in the Christmas rain,
No room at the Inn again . . .