The day is grey;
Rain soaks the grey streets.
Dirty, grey buildings
Reach up to be cleaned.
Grey pavements lie splattered
Where people spat contempt
For their life,
Littered with huddled bodies
Seeking shelter from their strife.
Then we see him.
The man in red.
Red shirt, red pants,
Red glasses frames,
Red sandals;
Even a red belt.
He remembers days past
And how he once felt.
Around his neck
Hangs his small black pouch
With the key to his lonely home.
His children have gone,
His wife has passed on.
He walks alone.
No Santa, he.
Just an old man
Doing what he can
To spread some cheer
For the Christmas time of year.
READ MORE POEMS BY SHARON HEANEY STANSFIELD