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