In my small neat room he made his choice
Sat
Clawing at his coat
Charity’s finest
The hand that made him the man he was

It found him bottles to live in,
Emptied his pockets
And with its twin had given its view on how it felt
About what others had just said.

Bleached eyes
Slipped away to somewhere else,
Some when else

Bleary focus
Was barely there
The nowhere stare began to water.
He smiled
Crooked
Resigned

The hand
Still for a while
Shook
Was it laughing?

Did it have its own grin
In mockery of him
Keeping the joke to itself
Had it read his mind
Did it whisper

“It would be easier to cut me off”.