Street Life (Poetry)

How many passers-by noticed him
tucked in a space between shop fronts
out of the wind and rain?

Squatting on the cold concrete
wrapped round in dark colours
hooded — just eyes staring out

at the wet street and those shoppers
passing — rarely looking
or pretending not to see

being too busy — minds elsewhere
the close-to-Christmas rush dominating all
and any pity or small stab of spontaneous compassion
glancing off like drops of the so-unseasonable rain.

And yet I keep thinking of him —
his empty stare and hunched-down look
and wonder how he spent his Christmas day
or if anybody offered him a place —
somewhere warm — anywhere — to stay.