I first saw him telling tales outside a charity shop
To more than one
None of who would stop long enough
To hear the story
Filled with hard learned consequence
Brought on
By life’s hard knocks
It was only later
That he caught me
Emerging
As he did
From the well-used telephone box
Clinging to a rucksack
***** trousers just a bit too short
In this unexpected setting
He began to talk
Already the expectation
Of my dismissal
My retort
A truth
Or fabrication
Made up on the spot
Or several days before
Considering the question
His measure of my reaction
Every word apologetic
He knows I just won’t get it


This
The latest chapter
In a lifetime
The colour of every forgotten
Back street door

By now it’s all too late
The question’s out
And before we know it
We’ve reached the pause
I give him what is asked for
And he is
Forever thankful
Perhaps though
More for my time
Than for the legal tender
Given as it was
In an ready open handful