The Reluctant Vagrant

She sat in the doorway of an untenanted shop
her carrier bags strewn around,
her damp drizzly hair was matted with dirt
she was smoking a dog end she'd found.

She looked out as the world passed by her
from eyes that mirrored her soul,
the fear and torment she felt inside
was disguised by defiant control.

Her jeans were wet and ragged,
her shoes were shabby and worn
and when she put her jacket on
the sleeves were dirty and torn.

She couldn't have been more than sixteen
seventeen at the most;
what on earth could have befallen her
to make her just give up the ghost?

What of the couple whose love had conceived her
all those years ago?
Were they still in love, living together?
why did they let her go?

How many more are there like her,
out there in this uncaring world?
How many more sleep in doorways and alleys,
in foetal position curled?