• Vol. 05
  • Chapter 01

People for Sale

Dragged over broken concrete
behind closed doors
just in, another bin bag.

Jacket, not waterproof, torn yes
but in my pockets half a can
and that smoke that fell from me.

Earring trapped in the lining
cosy in its own fur coat, more
rollies in the bashed baccy tin.

Sleeping bag, was blue.
White tin mug, few stains I admit
but well handled. Blanket nicked.
Socks none.

That wet grey jumper needs to weep
some more on someone’s radiator,
couple of tops, one logo might fancy you.

Take it, no name, no label, just leave
mind the broken step and straighten that
fallen black letter ‘cos I’m funny
that way.

No one will notice the passing.