Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Oct 2021
You look at me like I'm stupid
ignorant or just plain insane
and try to remember my name
but don't you dare to forget
this sodden hunched old busker
squatting huddled in the rain

I hear you comment on how I smell
of cheap cider, bitter and strong
but don't ignore me
as I sit here with my guitar
on the street corner
amongst the hurrying throng

You, who pass me by
trampling on my old cap
with a single coin in it
looking down on me,
who was once a household name
as you munch on
the sausage roll
the Big Mac the slice of pizza
or drink the espresso or latte
then toss the dregs
at my sockless feet
and light up a ciggie
as you hurry down the street
sheila sharpe
Written by
sheila sharpe  74/F/Kegworth
Please log in to view and add comments on poems