Posted by in Poems on Aug 11, 2013

She jumped up eagerly from a wooden crate.

“A bit of help sir? That’s right,

reach deep into your pockets.”

A few coins into the dirt-silvered hand.


Dark eyes watchful under the shawl;

the dirty children glowered in the corner,

called down to a life of sneaking envy:

so many doors slammed in their faces.


On the Ha’penny Bridge I saw it

stretched on the water, the old plaything.

so many doors slammed in their faces,

both the born and the unborn.