It's Just Hard Luck Poem by Mark Heathcote

The face of poverty is here again
The silent vagrant without a friend
Sits cross-kneed watching businessmen
In suits and ties condescend-

Their needs, filling pockets out of greed
They aren't moved by the homeless
They all stand together, black-millepede
Looking at you like you're dead begonias.

They aren't bothered that your livelihood
Was destroyed, they made a fast buck
Let's not kid ourselves theirs no brotherhood
When they look at you, it's just hard luck.

Oh, and if you're lucky they might just put
A few old silver coins in your flannel cap
Maybe enough to feed that bed companion
That sad old greyhound dog sat on your lap
Have a nice day, sir! Don't forget to come back.