Walking along the familiar street

I meet

A lady who asks me

For £1

So that she

Can get to bank.

 

I give her the pound

And laugh at her story.

 

I receive no thanks

But get asked for £5

(Which I deny I have).

 

I go home

Thinking on philosophy,

Lies,

And the fickleness of charity.

 

But who

Exploited who

I wonder

As I sit alone

At home

Writing poetry …

 

(Note: “Bank” refers to bank station on the London underground).