Social Outcast Poem by bryan wallace

Shunned, forgotten and ignored,
Dis-owned by civilised society.
You sit sheltering from the sleet
On a cold damp bed of newspapers
In a corner shop doorway.

A tattered old army over-coat
Protects you from the cold.
The bottle of cheap red wine
Pokes from your coat pocket.
It helps you to keep warm
Or perhaps helps you to forget.

You mind your own business,
Do no harm to no-one.
Yet the 'Christians' view you
As a drunk, as a ne'er-do-well
And avoid you like the plague.
We shouldn't judge you -
We know nothing about you.

Your furrowed weather beaten face
Tells a story of hardship, which
Is probably beyond our comprehension.
We are happy to judge you -
But never ask for your story.
Had any of us been dealt the hand
That you were dealt in life, then maybe
We'd be drinking in the street too.