SLEEPING ROUGH

How long do you want to die for? Is

it just for now, or do you want to die

for ever more – seemed an odd

sort of question to be asked from

the voice of a Good Samaritan at

the other end of the expressionless

telephone line, but I was fine with it,

since I was being trained as a newbe

operator at the safe end of the phone.

But I took good notice of the nuances

of talk to people struggling with their

bread-line lives, without a knife or fork

to call their own – and who sometimes

thought they were a load of junk and

lacking in a place to bunk inside a snug

and welcome a safety zone. Perhaps it’s

 why I hand the beggar on the street a

sandwich treat or pie, or  a can of fizzy

stuff, when passing by - seeing them

lying there, on blankets with haunted

eyes looking owl-like and tuckered out.

Doubtless there are the ones who try

it on – an act of fun perhaps – or with

more favourable paths to follow - on

a cold and wintry night, but since I am

the judge of it, I place my shiny coin in

the proffered hat and thank my lucky

stars for daily nourishment and kin.

Praying their betterment begins within.