Come On Back For A Meal

I already gave, I said, and I
bled like the young man
I was; how many of you
have made a sacrifice?
It was rhetoric they played
at with a stiff bat. Eh?

What do you mean, one
asked, menacing, jaw
jutting with acne, tattoos,
we’re just collecting
dosh old man, for all
dose homeless pipple.

That’s exactly what he
said! Gee, y’ reckon you
could collect some for me
I asked, without any real
prospect. Y’ homeless
are ya, the acned lad

queried me, like, no
place to live, no prospects
‘n all that? Crikey, I said,
y’ mean y’ give a shit?
Maybe, the boy replied,
like, are you for real?

When I bled, I reminisced,
I swore there’d never be a
hungry child, a family
distressed, a nation
bereaved. Perhaps I
bled into a fertile earth?

Don’t know about that
the lad said, but I think
all those things are great
ideals. When we’re done
here, why not come on
back for a meal?
© 29 January 2008, I. D. Carswell