Runaway kids miles from home live
in boxes and doorways of Britain’s capital city.
Walking the streets like wily old
Foxes, searching for food and people to take pity.
Begging in subways and busy street corners
To feed their bellies and addicted minds
Abused and accused young juvenile
Loners, prostitutes, rent boys and other mixed kinds.
Round their little fires they ponder
Their life, while a drunken tramp
Sings a sad song.
Guarding their patch with a blade
of a knife, stabbing intruders as if
nothing’s wrong.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem