Snail

The last time I saw him

he was sleeping on a bench

'waiting' for the train to Waterloo.

He'd been crashing at a mates -

off the street, but hadn't eaten

since the day before yesterday's pasta.

So I took him to the cafe

for a coffe and asked

if I could get him any shopping -

cider - I bought it,

but the request for vodka - ignored it.

Back at the station he was disappointed

when I bought his ticket -

he'd rather have bummed a seat

and had the cash. Something

was on his mind - only one thing

was on his mind and it wasn't me,

or the job he said he'd seen.

He was going begging -

anything for the heroin he needed

to supplement the methadone they gave him

and I wasn't coughing up

if he pleaded or not -

the last time I saw him.

The time before, he'd turned up

with a bottle in his coat - dozed

off by my fire, and when he woke

he didn't seem to register the urine

soaking where he sat.

And today he's off to get a job -

I've always loved Snail - everybody does,

but these days, I take what he says

with a pinch of salt.