Pretty homeless.
Her caramel complexion told not the stories she did not tell,
Nor did I ask.

No bucked teeth,
No smack-banged jitters
mixed with incoherent stutters...
but beauty in the most surprising of places.

Piccadilly Gardens on a sunny Mancunian afternoon
the busy city stands in shock
at the thought that anything can happen.

Without the badge such beauty would be deceptive...
She doesn't look homeless.
But she's pretty homeless.

This ardent atheist accepts her thanks, her God bless
and goes on his way...
a bard, a vagabond by choice,
a regal rogue with a heart of gold
but no time to hear the real Big Issue...
her story,
transient in a fleeting, ever moving
world.

Pretty,
Pretty homeless.