Lifes a bowl of pizza's

I saw him still.
I mean, rude of me, but I stared at him.
With dishevelled look
And greasy black hair.
On the stairs
Of the new pizzeria.
Shaking like a leaf in this autumn evening.

Inside, the city dwellers,
Through the window
Looked satisfied.
Chatted heartily
Among half eaten plates.

The waste, of him was thin.
Nigh drawing in, breath
Through gaunt cheeks
And old shoes to boot.

A couple dressed to the hilt.
Glistening radiantly, in love
Looked, longingly over steaming coffee.
Spending hard earned cash.
Loads of money.
In that new pizzeria.

Dashed hopes and not even a blanket.
He struggles relentlessly through the night.
CHECK-ed by rain.
“PLEASE do you have any spare change.”

As the laughter of those city dwellers
Fell deep into his begging bowl.
Outside that old beggar.
“How long must this Go on?! Never! Do tell.”