Alison Cassidy - Urban Charity

Dirty dreadlocks
(are there any other kind?)
and fingerless gloves
sprouting nails
blackened
by tobacco and neglect.

‘Can you give us a cuppla dollars for a coffee? ’
his voice wheedled like Uriah Heap.

I looked at my daughter,
groomed and city slick beside me
and felt almost embarrassed
as I parted with a twenty dollar note.

‘Cool, mum'
was her unexpected response.
‘You know they’ll spend it on drugs.
But, what the heck?
At least they’ve met someone
nice
for a change.'

Alison Cassidy

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/urban-charity/