Quiet Scene

Quiet Scene

Joannie sits in a corner of early morning
Waiting for the city to wake up,
She's a study of knees and chin and hands
Huddled against the dirty wall,
King's Cross heroine feeling like one more fool
In a long line.
She's got a rag laid out at her feet to hold the coins;
57p but it's only 7.30
And she's got
Nothing else to occupy -
She'll sing later when she's not so cold,
You know, really try.

People walk past, ignoring
(If they don't look down they can pretend they didn't see)
And trains pass, full of strangers
That rarely smile -
London's just a concrete covering of lonely miles.
Joannie hugs her knees
And finds a strange relief;
She wouldn't want to be a corporate whore,
A travelling briefcase, a suited-up bore.

Early morning peace broken,
Commuter train, announcement spoken
And she raises her head to smile.
It's a sort of defiant hopefulness
That someone will stop awhile -
It only takes a second to throw a coin,
If only they spoke to her - a word is worth much more:
It dignifies.