Never misses a shift – always there

He sits, forlorn, at pound-shop door

Winter takes toll and worse for wear

Same time, same place in the future

Gatecrashed my simple pass-you-by

Casually intruded one day

His white Staff, a beast – tell no lie

Nothing like weather-worn stray

Enormous head – muscled in layers

Has rarely missed a good day’s feed

Now-a-day’s thing, proper players

Smokes weed pulling leather, studded lead

Sat crossed-legged on thick, thick blanket

Enough to make beggars rejoice

Armed with flask and cigarette packet

Dog resembles ‘His Master’s Voice.’

Greeted, that tentative way you say

‘ … since long time, noticed you glance ….’

Some country-bwoy urban away-day

Forward, to a point, and took his chance

“Bwoy! Why you no’ go back a’ country?”

Not done thing come city and beg

Solicit unwarranted pity

Shame ‘pon you family, to wrath-ed

 

 

 

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