The Chicago Beggar. Poem by Steve Caine

The Chicago Beggar.

Desperate for cash.
Sweat dripping from my brow,
with eyes in rimmed defence,
my nose pinched in nutcrackers,
and head with Bells of grain.

Insanely I walk with hands gripping the pavement through pockets.
The rain missing my head for thoughts,
and a tongue of forks for kissing plates with no food,
from waiters with ten minutes before the shift end.

Dark Streets lit by dreams and gilded in nightmares,
with words aloud and never heard
and tins once full and now a third,
with coins they are, the food long gone.
Whilst I sit cold in my word song.

Desperate for cash I cry a quiet,
you pass me by with the same disquiet.
Then when you're home and tucked in bed,
It's in your dreams I am instead.
And once upon a time I say,
In my dreams,
I may see that day.