Sunday, 11 December 2016

No interest

Grimy fingers hair in tangles
Streetwise she knew all the angles
Forgot the shame ignored the scorn
Even the day that Christ was born

Smutty language her only shield
With hidden knife she would wield
Unsteady gait was more a trot
People thought she'd been smoking pot

She'd sit sometimes in doorways bleak
Palm out flat some cash she would seek
Maybe touch a dollar or two
To get to the pub for a brew

Cared not about her tarnished life
Didn't want to be someone's wife
Didn't want anyone to touch
In fact her life was just not much

So was she ill or just insane?
As living seemed to be a pain
Her life and others would not mesh
No interest to start afresh

Was she waiting for the end to come?
Was her life just sad tedium?
To rejoice at the end of days
And just disappear in a haze

Image found at


  1. The last verse really hits home - when we lose interest in ourselves as well as he world losing interest in us that haze is very attractive

  2. Theirs is a life that had gone astray. Not just a sad existence but an eventual sad ending!


  3. Your poem raises so many unanswered questions about this nameless homeless woman.