As February gutters

Slinking away with

Memories of

Childhood hugs

Schoolboy ambitions

And hope fuelled dreams

 

And adulthood

Lies at the door

To swallow me

I am destitute of property.

 

Pulitzer prize winners

Future presidents

Nobility

May later squat

Voiding bowels

In this underground refuge

Where I lay shivering

Escaping snow

But not the withering cold.

 

As darkness lifts

I steal away

Blowing heat into my hands

Rubbing sleep from crusted eyes

Blinking in St Giles' dawn

Heading past St Mary Magdalen

Down towards Carfax

After breakfast at the market.

 

The fresh cardboard

Filling the hole

In my sole

Is damp through

My socks are wet too

Rancid from a winter's wearing.

 

Eighteen today

Arrest means a thumping and a fine

So making sure

The law

Patrols the furthest market aisle

I stoop and lift

A food stall's

Canvas cover corner

Grabbing packets blind

And find

The tarpaulin has birthday gifted

Dates for energy

And bourbon biscuits

To dunk in my tea.

 

If I had another tanner

I could buy a second cuppa

And half an hour extra of

Market tea stall

Paraffin warm

Hospitality.

 

Around me

Down historic alleys

Daily stream

Aspiring academics

Parading abundant prospects

Their eyes on glittering prizes

They don't see me.

 

Once I spotted Potter,

My old head prefect

From Form 5A

He looked away.

 

There is for me

No luxury of envy

Of the wealthy

Or wondering at the stark beauty

Of winter naked trees

Shyly budding

Or the serenity of ancient colleges

Swathed in dreaming histories.

 

I scour the streets

Stepping around

Grey grit gutter slush

Seeking a glittering prize

Of my own

A shining florin

Or half a crown.