Oxford Poem by Terry Donovan

It was a Sunday evening, he was dressed in his best rags,
He'd been searching for dropped coins and half-smoked fags
When he reached the late-night café with great envy he looked in
And he watched the people munching while he rummaged through the bin.
Chips and chops and chunks of cheese were being put away
And he hadn't had a sausage for the best part of the day
And he stared at one young fellow with a plate of pie and mash.
He was a bum, he wanted some, but he hadn't got the cash.