Out of Tombland he came, loping, at a
sort of unarticulated trot, as though
long acquaintance with pavements and doorways had stiffened
his joints beyond ordinary unbending.

In a voice made hoarse by too much sleeping out,
and mindful of too many little kindnesses
not done and not received, he asked for change.
So passionate a "please" I had not heard,

had not thought it such a mighty word
with power to move beyond polite requests
to wait and pass the salt and mind your head.
"Just another quid mate. Oh please mate. Please!"

Then he was off again, dressed all in black,
down to threadbare socks in bursting trainers:
a malcontent, an uncomplacent soul,
debating with himself of practical matters.