how the mighty fall - or - is it just

a crisp new 20 pence piece,
rolls to my grasp,
thrown by a disgruntled passenger,
alighting the carriage on platform 22,
disgusted by my dismembered look,
yet sickened by their guilt,
probably more nauseated by the smell,
my jacket ouzes fine odour,
fine aroma of unclean body, pee and shit,
it is the jacket..i tell myself,

put the money with the rest,
in the only pocket not torn,
who bought this jacket i ask?,
it has a habit of opening in the middle,
but keeps my back warm as toast,
good find that jacket, i pat myself,
on a skip full of used cookers,
mmm lucky day i had then, i thought,
off to platform 23, in time for the 5.30,
its the rush hour train with lots of money,
almost as dirty as i am,

on my way, i find a half drunk can,
i lift it to my lips and pause,
is it full of pee again,
i hope not and drink,
it is as it says on the tin,
but the fizz went before i came,
still its a refreshing taste,
can still taste old tobacco,
reminds me, where's the butt ends i found,
crushed to death in my money pocket..damn,

the train rolls in before me,
the stampede begins readily,
avoid the dirty tramp i hear,
a mother advise her son,
the insults dont effect me,
i heard them all before,
the stabbing of them numbed,
i pathetically keep looking at their feet,
i have come along way in my life now,
the harshness and honesty seems odd,
since my days in parliament.

c.d.lee