A man and his LabradorÂ
A man sits on puddled slabs near Cutty Sark station.
Clothes more bedraggled than a twig in a waterfall,
a Labrador on his lap –
cone on her neck.
They’re more tired than the last leaf in winter.
He calls out for change, joining the poker table.
No one answers,
as feet continue their morning march.
His voice is lost in life’s game of Texas Hold ‘em Poker –
begging for shelter,
but the dealer says, “No pets allowed.”
The coins in his cup from the day before
are the wrong hand; they don’t add up to a royal flush.
5ps and 10s– all useful, but he really needed a pound,
or
two,
for the jackpot.
A coffee in the storm and a treat for the dog.
The morning marchers continue on,
betting and raising the stakes
knowing home is warm –
one paycheck away from folding.
The man and his Labrador are already bust.