Dressed by the Salvation Army, fed
By City Mission, sits
Wasted.
Maybe it's the drugs that make him simple.
I think not. I think he has always been a child.
Once, his sister took him in, but I guess he wore her out.
He claims no family now.
It's no fun, being an addict.
"Where?" I ask, "Are you sleeping, Nathan?"
"Car Park. Off Westgate Street."
Until, I guess, an upright citizen, with a full belly,
Complains. Or drunken party-goers piss on him.
I think about this, often. There are people who
Stop in sympathy with a pound or a sandwich
And there are people who piss on him.
I am guessing, because you have read this far,
That you are not one of those.
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