Thursday, 16 June 2011

A Smile

Drenched clothes, damp grass, cold fingers, numb toes,
Birds screeching, cars beeping, clouds dark, Boasting,
The same blanket, the same bench, naked feet reach for the soft Earth.
Smart attire, silk and satin, white and grey and black,
One hand shoving a phone to an ear, brown leather briefcase in the right,
You see, their hands are tied.
A smile I send.

Leaflets. White and glossy. £3 per hour.
My hands reach out…
Not one pair of eyes gives a second glance.
A smile, I send.

Late night, city buzzing, sparkling dresses, heels clicking,
Loud chattering, glasses clinking, fine china clattering,
lukewarm, tasteless liquid,
slithers down my throat, as my nails dig into the foam cup,
a bronze coin,
droplets crash,
startled hands,
a puddle of tea bleeds into blanket,
fingers linger,
across the engraved crown,
on the cool topaz. And, a smile. I send.

Sun rising, subtle wind, my light, visible, shutters opening.
The white,
Flashes between my fingers,
‘Will work for food’,
Screams the cardboard, in the wrinkled hands,
Of a trembling man, from across the road,
As a silver Mercedes shines,
In the middle of us.
As my future flashes.
A smile. I want to send.

But I am tired. And the cream tube shapes,
Are growing violent, in my palm, calling me. Pleading.

And I am tired.

© Simrita Iota
Why homeless men die 22 years younger
Picture credit
Simrita Iota is a student from Hertfordshire who believes that homelessness and poverty is a severe issue that needs to be dealt with urgently. Simrita hasn't written poetry before.
Editor's comment:
We were very impressed with this evocative (and provocative!) piece from someone completely new to writing poetry. We love to support emerging talents and fresh voices here.