Quelle: poetry p f
Beggar on the Tube
If you were dying, let’s imagine it—
it costs me almost nothing after all—
in Technicolor, say you’d just been stabbed,
blood wet, red through your shirt, face tight with pain
and with the effort of remaining quite
polite, lest messy in your death throes, you
offend me, jeopardise my sympathy,
would I still lock my eyes inside this book,
see nothing but a pair of ancient scales,
hanging uneven as an unseen hand
adds yet another stone to the left side;
then shocked for o a second maybe more
that I don’t help you, quickly lose myself
in thinking up the words for this first line.
Louisa Hooper
published in Citizen 32, Issue 2, Oct 2004