Poem: Comfortable

Comfortable
© John Jenkins

“Please help me Sir”, the lady said
“I’ve got nowhere to sleep.
It’s cold outside and if I die
There’s nowt who’ll know or weep.
My bones are getting aweful sore,
It’s hard there, on the street.”

I said to her, “I’m comfortable.
Don’t rock my little boat.
I’ve got enough of what I need,
And occasionally I vote
To elect a party that props me up.
So don’t try cross my moat.”

She walked away, and I could see
That pain was in her eyes.
Her shabby clothes and unkempt hair
Could not disguise the lies
I knew she spoke, when she said, “I’m OK”
Each time I bought her fries.

I moved along, my day of work
Consumed my every thought,
And by the time I passed that place
I felt slightly distraught
When I didn’t see her flowery dress,
So I ate the chips I’d bought.

I stopped and pondered on the bridge,
Then leaned over the ledge.
The water billowed the flowery dress,
Her bags lay by a hedge.
The chips I’d bought felt poisonous
And set my teeth on edge.

The world’s OK, for folks like me,
And maybe folks like you.
As long as we don’t think too much
We’re bound to make it through,
And heaven’s gates will open wide
For her…. and me? and you?

Written by a member of the congregation of All Hallows.

One response to “Poem: Comfortable

  1. Gentle and sharp reminder of pretending not to see. Thank you for this poem.

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