When you dream of Dickens

They’ll soon move him on,
yes dearie.
the beggar that bothers you
will shortly be gone,

and I’m going back
beyond the workhouse doors
down by the dockside
down on the Southside
mixing with the whores

some are flower girls
some are sour girls
some are
past the eleventh hour girls
some give
steaming mugs of Chinese tea
we’re all beggars here
but it doesn’t bother me.

All are pleading poverty
selling their sobriety
dreams across an
opium sea
I wonder if any hope’s left
for me
before they move me on

© 2019, John Smallshaw.