Quick-step shuffle march,
a walk that marks her
from a mile off,
a daylight ghoul goes foraging.
Open-palmed
she pounds grey streets for silver coins
– “I just need 50p for the bus!”
to brown and oblivion.
Eyes dead but urgent
she hunts endlessly,
gaunt face scowling at rejection,
yet she isn’t deterred.
She can’t be, her spouse
– she loves him and hates him –
is waiting back at the flat.
Sharp-tipped, he’s always
needling her, never leaves her alone.
He plays her like a fiddle
plucks her strings
and pulls them, so she dances
lifeless
like his puppet.
But she’s Hungry for him.
Always.
All she needs is his touch
his warm caress
his coming inside of her.
H can make her whole again.
But he’s a cruel partner
– she knows he’ll be the death of her.
I wrote this today, and may still edit it quite a lot. It isn’t very thought-through in terms of rhythm, metre, and possible rhymes, but it has the idea and the imagery.
I’ve always noticed the very urgent, hurried walk of many drug addicts when they are out on the street. Sometimes they do it while begging for money, racing to get the amount needed for a hit. Other times it seems like they are off somewhere, presumably to their dealer, so with even more reason to step quickly. It’s a walk that seems to even outpace that of the typical London commuter, and yet it isn’t exactly the same as the commuter’s. The commuter walks with a distant, withdrawn but hard purpose – long strides and arms pumping. The junkie walks with more of a rapid shuffle, almost looking like they are fighting the urge to jog.
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Tags: addict, addiction, beggar, heroin, heroin addiction, Poem, poem about begging, poem about heroin addiction, poetry
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