in the bustling city streets he hustled to make ends meet
cold days defined by feet, a measure of his fortunes in a daily repeat
but he remained upbeat for this withered man had powers
as he shined shoes by the hour the black soles flowered
and seeded images so horrific and explicit he wished he was a coward…

just another cold day when the breath formulates exhaled vapour
humming to himself reading old papers yesterdays news arrives later
needy of a translator he absorbs the pictures as he's illiterate to scriptures
hands caloused and blistered from the persistant exposures he's witnessed
the victim of a spiralling sickness his cloth and polish the only hope
and his gift helps him cope when his customers memories are evoked
as darkness set in a misty smoke shrouded the deathly quiet street
concrete footsteps meet the eerie silence which admits defeat and retreats
the old man heard speech and a hooded figure emerged from the dark
dull black brogues of a rogue marked silences muted remarks
a man in a suit noir with a matching jacket filled the beggars attention
the air was filled with tension as the mans aura created henchmen
babbling words escaping a sentence he wandered over to the old man
his shadowy face escaped the streetlights scan and he sat on the stand
our friends work had began , and as the polish kissed the leather….
'the gift' commenced for what seemed like forever…

he saw a homeless man begging for his life
the pot of pennies he clutched dropped in fright
the silhouette of a knife put fear in his eyes
his dirty stubbly face cried as the cold steel slit his side
and glided inside then again and again till blood raged
and the grinning blade laughed at the corpses stage
not afraid to rid the streets of pityful filth and futility
a brutal murder restoring the city to tranquility
no signs of humility the hand behind the edge struck again
another defenceless victim stabbed with cold contempt
persons spent their ghostly features stained with ruptured veins
terrorised expressions portrayed the suffering and pain
the pavements domain bloodied with spilt anguish
their soles now companions with this man who managed
to vanish and leave the deceased with naked feet
a done deed and he muttered in glee & glanced at his watch
ten forty 3 pm .the 21st.and he walked a few blocks
in the mist he spotted an old man, a shoe shiner
the knife itched and snickered in the suits liner
wearing a tint of hobo it muttered words of death
and its owner sat himself down on a wooden rest….