Sainsbury’s Shame

Scarred nose,

Tired tracksuit,

Possibly homeless.

A man in black suit and tie,

Beckons scarred man.

Offers him bread and jam.

Security follow him around,

Sainsbury’s must earn every pound.

Suited man pays,

Says take care,

And leaves.

Security man pounces,

And scarred man,



I intervene. Less swearing,

Posher accent.

It’s all paid for I say –

And, if you dare,

Hold him there –

I will complain.

Frowning, angry,

Security releases him,

Bread and jam still in hand.

This less fortunate man,

An unwelcome mirror,

Of ourselves,

Were we only as unlucky.

We fear seeing so much,

That we treat with suspicion,

Those we should nurture.

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