Society's Ghosts

The night is cold with all but the stars, to judge and criticize. My newspaper body cloaked in ink shadows. My invisible disguise; to all the passersby. My odour, freshened by the night air, as my shoes with poor tongues, shy into a ball. I shrink into dust, until I'm nothing at all. I wake to the birds pecking hungrily at my skin, ripping shreds of salt and vinegar paper salvaged from the bin. I shake off the night and empty my pockets of beheaded wrappers and change. The taste of copper staining my hand. £1 for 4 cans of value larger, I cradle the first can. It's cheaper than a loaf of bread, so who's the one to blame? As you screw up your face and regard me with distain. I sink into my oblivious calm. Watching the hustle and bustle of this parallel world. My presence extinct, my voice seldom heard. A Ghost, a whisper in the wind. The wind may of turned your head to glance at me once, but you had Places to go, People to see. If in kindness you'd offered an ear or reached out a hand. The ghost I'd become, would of stood like a man. I used to be you. Money and plans. A family, health care an insurance plan. Always someone to meet, or somewhere to go. So next time you pass by, on your way to work. Juggling a coffee, pen on your shirt. An oversized watch that ticks like a bomb. Headphones blasting your favourite song. Just take a moment to STOP and SEE. What IF I Were YOU ? and YOU were ME?