Not a beggar nor a wino

“Excuse me miss,

are you local?” 

I turn with subtlety to retort. . .  

“you could say that”. 

I kept it short . . . I knew what was next 

I sit on the bench; you know to get myself comfy 

For this jack-a-nory.  I already know the story. But I give him his glory. 

“I’m not a beggar nor a wino, just 9 quid off you know.   

This corona virus has stuffed things up kind of stopped the show… 

I sell the big issue. But it’s had to stop. 

Just 9 quid off from a bed at the hostel.  

A safe place for me to get horizontal. 

I swear miss, I’m not on the bottle!”

The thing is I don’t actually have any cash. Just a card.

Covid got me into the habit of that. 

The homeless don’t do cashless. 

I’m overcome with sadness. 

I explain I’m not callous.  

He knows as I’m mask less.

He knows that I’m no actress. 

“But there is one thing that I can do  . . .  

I’ll say a prayer tonight for you” 

He looked right at me and smiled a smile. 

The words received were worth the while . . . 

“Psalm 23 Miss . . . that’s my favourite! . the lord ‘IS’ my shepherd!” 

“In that case my friend your company will never be bettered and your soul will never be weathered…The corona virus will not cause him fear 

 2-meter rule disregarded . . . he will hold you near!” 

He nods at me. 

I nod back. 

company parted.

Once again, I hear… 

“I’m not a beggar nor a wino” 

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