NIGHT SHELTER

NIGHT SHELTER

"For pity's sake Jackie, let me in,
Just to warm me bones!"
He rattled the metal shutter which protected the open window.
In the glare of the security light his breath streamed cold and
sharp.
The powerful smell of meths and stale tobacco
Invaded the room where Jackie and I sat.
In semi-darkness.

Another night shift on a below zero November night.
Its 4.15 a.m. He will be given a scald of tea and a blanket.
Nothing more. We know him too well.
Whilst in his drinker's stupor, he will be fine.
Telling us stories of his Catholic childhood, in Limerick.
In exchange for a fag and a brew.
Then, as reality threatened to return
and dawn would arrive at much the same time,
he would spit words of hatred and venom.
Crazy, threatening violence.

He was 38. He looked nearer 50.
His face weathered,
The creases black with the dust and grime of the inner city.
Once, a handsome man, the years of drinking and brawling
Had hammered away at the fine features.

He came most winter mornings,
dependent on a fag and a brew
to keep him alive in his crazy world,
as he waited for the 'offie' to open at 6.30&;#8230;
He abused us loudly, yet he respected us as women
and would apologize profusely,
should his tongue get the better of him.

Over the years, his anger and his craziness overwhelmed him
until he took control of his life for one last time.
He was found under the railway arches, holding his rosary.
Frozen. But at last, in peace.