Waiting

Sitting slumped on the sidewalk
Side swiped by a brisk breeze
Side lined by busy passing strangers
Sitting crossed legged and still
Almost in the lotus position
Like a man seeking inspiration
Like a monk seeking solace
His left hand rigid, outstretched
Begging, hoping for charity
Faith in humanity long gone
Dirty and damaged plastic cup
From an unaffordable coffee shop
Contains a few spare copper coins
Gained from an any spare change plea
Not enough there to buy a Latte
Or their latest discounted meal deal
He is a man in his early twenties
But looks like he’s in his late forties
The aging process has not been kind
Holed and flappy, black sneakers
Holed and dirty, baggy denims
Holed combat jacket, camouflaged
Holed stained and damp, woolly hat
Everything matches, everything holed
He has been there now three days
Three days running, sitting still
Passers by avoid eye contact
Passers by pay him no heed
Passers by quickly pass by
No good Samaritans as yet
He continues to wait sitting still
Another day passes into night
Which in turn passes into another day
He reflects and shines, sparkling
In the winter, crisp morning sun
Nothing has changed for him
Everything the same, sitting still
It’s rush hour, but not for him
They pass by in greater numbers
A fashionable army off to war
Avoid looking at an obvious casualty
One man and his dog stop and look
The man wears a dog collar and a cross
The dog lifts its leg as dogs do
Pissing all over the man who waits
No reaction, he remains sitting still
The dog’s man apologises
He puts some silver in the coffee cup
There’s now enough for that Latte
“Are you alright there?”
There is no response, sitting still
“Do you need a doctor or something?”
Again there is no response still sitting
Man and his loyal best friend
Continue their daily walk unaffected
An on-looker was actually looking
She furtively crosses the street
She picks up his coffee cup looking
She looks all around her carefully
She carefully empties the coins
Into her hand and then her pocket
She strides away purposefully
Maybe to get that steaming Latte
Time slowly passes, still sitting
A nurse in uniform stops by
She kneels, taking a close look
She dutifully checks for a pulse
There is no pulse, no life remains
She mobile phones for an ambulance
Her conversation is overheard
It travels like Chinese whispers
The by-standers, on-lookers
The passers by form a crowd
Strangely they all seem to be interested
Strangely they appear to be concerned
Like a witches coven or ghouls gathering
They form and ugly, mumbling gang
The man is, no longer, sitting still
Paramedics straighten him out
The crowd gasp as legs are straightened
Arms crack and pop as he is laid out
To the delight and revulsion of the crowed
Pointlessly he is placed in the ambulance
Pointlessly they flash their lights and siren
As they speed off to the hospital
The mumbling crowed dissipate slowly
Into the evening mist disappearing
The street returns to its’ normality
The clock sounds a noisy midnight
A young and dishevelled man sits
Sitting crossed legged almost lotus
Sitting on a holed sleeping bag
He places a coffee shop cup in front
He’s a man in his early twenties
But looks like he’s in his late forties
He outstretches his hand cupping it
“Any spare change?” he begs
But nothing at all has changed
He waits, hoping with little faith
Now sitting still
Waiting to die.