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 . . .

◄ The Day Before

Like Walking On The Moon ►


Frances Macaulay Forde

Fri 5th Jan 2018 04:02

It's all been said. Another excellent example of your poetic eye which I so admire.

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Chris Hubbard

Mon 1st Jan 2018 12:49

This is a poem in a style that I try to reach but often don't: contemplative, insightful, calm and thoughtful. And so observant of the sheer demanding importance of the everyday. I enjoyed this immensely.
Thank you.

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steve pottinger

Fri 29th Dec 2017 09:38

A nicely observed poem, Hannah. The contrast between the cynical expectations of the 21st c - "Up early, maybe on a burglary because they've gone away for Christmas" - and the reality of what the man is doing really hooked me in. Thanks!

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M.C. Newberry

Wed 27th Dec 2017 16:36

A vignette that is both real and rewarding in its effect.
I like the resonance of the "homeless" connection that
links cat and humanity.

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Patricio LG

Wed 27th Dec 2017 06:53

There’s a book in this poem

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