My Own Best Friend

Stooping down and listless still

the rain, the pavement scarried

the men they took my food and oil

and all that I had carried

They robbed me with a fountain pen

they left me in the rain

they said they’d come back God knows when

just to add more to my pain

I pushed my umbrella into the hail

I watched it rip and tear

onlookers sneered as they saw me fail

sideways with a glare

I begged for bread with steely eyes

my plate I wiped it clean

“the Government” they said “is telling lies”

it’s always ever been

My friends I found them, some up, some down

in rooms of soft fine leather

but I had business back in town

and stepped out into the weather

I know I’m welcome any time

to share the common bread

where fault is lost for any crime

‘cept what’s on in my head

If I could realise just one thing

that all is not at end

I have a verse, a song to sing

I am my own best friend