The Stench of Ignorance

You can smell the homeless,
unwashed and badly dressed -
depressing sights. The druggies 
and the layabouts nattering
in gangs, or slouching formless
in doorways, sleeping shamelessly
by day, drunken on steps,
selling magazines -
malingering.

It's hard sometimes, difficult 
to avoid their needy gaze;
where to look? Pretend
you never saw a face, heard
a request. You do your best
to walk on past without staring,
wishing they weren't there, knowing
they are there by choice -
avoiding jobs - beggars
belief.

Someone ought to round them up
and send them on their way -
anywhere but here where we are
trying to live a decent life -
make a living, a home, provide for 
children - proper people.

Even abroad, you can't enjoy a holiday
without them being there; 
their children filthy and hungry.
It makes you sick.

I saw a child of maybe five
lie down in the centre of the street
and go to sleep. I took a photo
to show the folks back home
how the other half live. Shameful!
Something's got to give.

It's one long holiday for those kids -
no school, living off freebies. They'll kid
you that homelessness is loneliness  -
that's a lie - there's loads of them -
in towns and parks and streets -
in stations in every nation. 
You can find them on the net
in glossy photos (getting paid, no doubt)
or in artistic portraits of black and white.
Posers.

I don't fret about the homeless.
As I've said, there are loads of them,
and only one of me.