I rarely visit London or any of Britain's major cities, but when do I notice that the numbers of visibly homeless people seem to be on the increase.
As one who's had the good fortune throughout his life to have enjoyed full-time employment and a safe roof over his head, I find it puzzling that a comparatively wealthy nation such as Great Britain can allow the issue of homelessness to remain unaddressed.
I give her cash, for what it’s worth,
but know that her entreating eyes,
which follow me
as I retreat,
long for acknowledgement instead.
I dare not, no I dare not,
for if I think of her
as mother’s child
or mother of some hungry child
or someone’s sister, cousin, niece,
then I can surely not ignore
that she and I
are not remote from one another,
one tribe beneath the skin.
I cannot lie, nor can deny
that she, like me,
deserves to seek,
to find, to dream,
to be unique.