welcome to the northern quarter

welcome to the northern quarter

there's four of you,
in shark sharp suits,
shoes without socks,
or laces.

you manage to feel important,
for as long as it takes,
to ridicule Benji,
the young homeless guy
who sells poetry
to keep his stomach
from caving in on itself,
asking him
if he can change a £50.

there's more strength,
hope and empathy
in him,
than you'll ever know.

as he dreams
in a doorway tonight,
i hope your worthless lives
conclude,
wrapped round a tree,
in a seared,
Porsche fricassee.