In A Bad Light Poem by Mary Champion

Pitch black sky!
Stars and moon greyed out by heavy cloud -
only the dim streetlamps to light the way.
The place is almost as empty as my soul.
A stranger stops me, asking for the price of a meal.

The cynic in me thinks:
He will only spend it on drink,
or drugs,
or debauched living.

But what if his stomach is as empty as my soul?
Too indolent to purchase him food myself
I empty my purse into his hands.

Later, as I board the bleak night bus,
I glimpse the stranger passing furtive cash to a hooded figure -
a small package changes hands.

The cynic in me was right.

~~~

In his defence -the
said cynic was not judging -
just speaking truth -
a weary recognition
of the human condition.