He lies in a heap

Outside the super mart

Though his cup begs for money

His eyes beg for sleep

Toothily he grins at the ladies

Spits at commuters

Laughs with the men

And coos at the babies

With tongues of flint

The children cry

Taunt and whisper

Chide and hint

His breath reeks of gin

As he coughs long and dry

He sleeps now never to wake

From his smelly old bin.