Well-wrapped in op-shop* coat, thin,
ram-rod straight, almost-dapper beard,
the Big-Issue-seller deplored
my giving a fiver to a pavement tin.
"For all you know he had a home;
or you're feeding an addiction.
What kind of help is that?"
'What kind of talk is that?'
I might have come-back -
at such familiar
words spun usually by spiders of The Right,
that righteous prig-liar
State must prim-mouth,
empathy in drouth,
for the dying of the light.
'Oh, aid Dionysus for his* day,' I'd say
'He's heading off the world's edge, anyway;
while you still live you might make merry;
how he spends is his look-lively;
how I do's my own...'
But, no... no.
This guy was simply envious
all-down, bad luck must smart grievous;
pittances around won't go.
Divide and rule and race for low-ground;
let the poor fight over crumbs:
never raise your eyes to Finland*
where socialism has no bums
that cluster by the river where the roar
of the raised trams and trains drowns
the inward hubbub of Cartesian theater;
and the sun erases frowns,
cushioned on the wiry grass,
propped against concrete pillars shady,
letting the afternoon pass
in the world's 'Most Livable' city.
....................
*'Op-shop' in AUS is 'charity-shop' in UK
*This 'his' stands for 'his and/or her', of course.
Finland has very largely solved homelessness and rough sleeping.
