No one screamed in disbelief, grief or outrage
And no one ran to spread the news
There was nothing to see,
Save a pair of battered shoes
Sticking out from behind
A line of tarnished wheelie bins
Carefully arranged to protect
From the cold, razor wind.
The Flying Squad didn’t take off
And C.I.D. stayed in the P.U.B.
Staking out the new barmaids chest
Observation their priority.
Blue lights were absent when
A solitary bobby and two parmedics
Examined the neglected body,
Perused its lifetimes abuse
but found no specifics.
Crowds did not pack out the crematorium
And the coffin’s route was not lined.
The service was very short
The denomination undefined
Not a single mourner turned up to weep
As the final curtain swept aside
The sad truth being, no one gave a fuck
That yet another homeless person had died
Nick Lovell is a part time van driver, full time romantic, half arsed anarchist, eternal optimist and sometime poet. He currently holds 4 poetry slam titles from Nantwich to Hereford and enjoys writing for both page and performance!