Some

Some newcomers break vows upon seeing white lines.

They roll ten pound notes that refuse to find

a way back to their pockets, but are shared,

lifted and gifted to the nostrils of strangers,

who are persuasive at plundering.

Some, can be blown free, levitate

to touch fingertips, then outstretched arms,

gathered as if puppies from the riverbank,  

saved from torrents pulling the undertow.

The unlucky some become stray and feral,

always hungry dogs barking the currency

of straws exchanged to needles.

Singing old timer shanties of the beckoned

and blackened sea. Howling the chorus,

“Tomorrow I’ll start again lads.

A tenner is all I need, lasses."