Old Brighton Town

Old Brighton Town

Staring at the ground walking the street,

With his worn-out shoes exposing his feet.

Clasping a bottle and a see-through bag,

Then pauses slightly to light up a fag.

Lines on his face where strain is shown,

Of the terrible emptiness of feeling alone.

All battered by life, with no way out,

To that road of nowhere full of doubt.

He strolls on over to the old town seat,

Just staring at folk walking the street.

As they look away and pass around wide,

A poor fellow human who's lost his pride.

His tired old face so distant and vague,

Cruelly avoided like the bubonic Plague.

Hands were shaking resting on his knees,

Laboured breathing and a bit of a wheeze.

With my heart, all heavy and teary eyed,

I grabbed two teas and sat by his side.

We chatted about weather, life and folk,

Drank our teas and we had a quick smoke.

He brought back a memory close to my heart,

Of my younger days before dad did depart.

Walking those streets of old Brighton town,

Handing out teas to the homeless around.

So, I thanked this man for his pleasure today,

Placed change in his hand before walking away.

My mind still vivid from my younger years,

As I swallowed hard and sniffed back the tears.

Words 219

Lines 28

Stanzas 7