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Old Bum
by
Clive Michie
Old man
Cold and hungry
Grasping warm coffee
Scowling at passers by
His face is made of leather
His fingers stiff and twisted
His clothes are filthy rags
His age no one can tell
He guards his bags of bottles
He guards his cardboard box
He lost his medication
He can’t afford the pills
He staggers to the liquor store
And buys up what he can
This will keep him going
Puts all the past behind
How did he get here?
How will he escape?
What caused this in his life?
What really makes him tick?
A passer by takes notice
He perks his ears to hear
The old bum looks to the sky
Then bows his head to say
Merry Christmas baby Jesus
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