The Waif’s End in the City

What had he said?
Damp duvet drags
Upon a bed for the dead;
New morning for hags.

Outside, the clean-
Scurrying on
Past her, the unseen
Fallen swan.

A warm cigarette,
(‘Smoking Kills’
But, no threat
To fish denied gills.)

A cold cafe;
***** dope for money,
Bright colors from grey.
(Dying seemed funny.)

Can’t live
With no respect.
He won’t forgive
A life wrecked.

Canary yellow,
Parasols in play.
Elsewhere is mellow,
Hyde Park is clay.

A Little Match Girl
In a ladies’ toilet;
Abandoned pearl
With a cold sweat.

I saw a new grave.
I heard a man phone.
Green men couldn’t save
An eighteen year old crone.

A small crowd gathered:
They spoke of shame,
Of sullied blood,
Of a girl with no name.

Words stained with pity
Are all that remain.
Her tomb a cold city,
Its voice her last pain.