Homeless

When I was seventeen,
The anoraked man approached me,
Two pound a month,'
'For the homeless.'
I'm saving up for Uni,
Though I very much believe in your cause.
I walk away,
Leaving the anorak;
Still,
Behind me.

When I was twenty two,
Jobless.
The recession bit us hard.
Anoraks around me on the cold street;
'The homeless are dying,'
'Two pound a month.'
Apologies,
I would find it queer,
To give away the governments money,
But when I have a job...
The rain lashes the anoraks.
As I take leave.

When I was twenty five,
Lunch break from the high-street store.
Snow fell on the concrete.
An anorak slipped.
He didn't smile as he erected,
'Homeless are dying,'
'Two pound a month.'
On my wage?
I can't, but when...
But when?
Anorak slipped again,
Some people laughed,
And I laughed a little,
As I ran.

When I was thirty three,
Break from the board room;
Massaging the fat-cats.
Sun-drenched high street,
Cobbled road.
Lit a cigarette,
I had picked up the habit.
Anorak looking feeble in the heat,
'Two pounds a month.'
I cough in his face,
And barge him a little.

When I was forty two,
They took away my busniness.
My money, my house;
No longer.
I recieved ample government help,
Benefits,
Got back on my feet,
Within the year.

What were those anoraks moaning about?