On the streets 
They pass me by like zombies 

In their knocked off abercrombies

Their Drug signs are there for all to see

They stagger around like they were drunk

Their bloodshot eyes so deeply sunk

Open Needle marks and obvious lethargy

They go down to the social

To get money for their hostel

On street corners they will hustle

Unsteadily they will shuffle

The fag in hand, the cheap beer can

Young ladies pushing babies prams

Not knowing where the fathers gone

Or where the next quick fix comes from

They make their way to the local courts

The poor tax payers they support

The Procedures they all know well

Free barristers, free lawyers cartel

Their sob stories they will tell

They’re released back onto the street

And then they shout a loud obscenity

At the local understaffed gardai

Their laughter and V signs we see

I wonder will they ever be

A part of our “normal” society

Or will they always hover 

On the outskirts in abject poverty.

Jpoet7