Soon to be Found
A Prose Poem
--
They left him where they found him
Without a thought to how it looked
They just shoved him against the wall,
Closing the gate on him and his trouble.
On Thursday morning, just before dawn
When the foxes roamed the street,
The binmen turned the corner
Halfway through their rounds.
They almost passed him over
Thinking him another drunk, asleep
Slumped among the black bags,
Legs splayed akimbo and head bent back,
His hair and threadbare suit wet from the rain.
Another elderly man crumpled and stained
Unable to make it home and to his bed.
The foreman made the call
While the others got to work,
Intent on keeping to their schedule.
A photograph did the rounds
On all the local groups
Despite the families desperate pleadings,
Their requests for privacy and respect,
Disregarded and ignored.
A nephew tried to take control
But the truth of their uncle’s fall
Was no longer theirs to keep.
Some claimed it was his own fault,
That a life spent living with no regard
Could only end one way,
But that didn’t change the fact
That he was someone’s other
Uncle, son, brother.
A man fallen in the gutter
Put out onto the street,
Like another piece of rubbish
Left to be found
By someone else.
© Chris Noonan
Thank you for reading.
