His name was Alan
That’s what I call him
That is his name.  

Every man should have a name
The name defines the man.

Hair snot-clotted
Eyes blood-shotted
Shirt-tails shitty stink
Breath foul fetid
Brow hash-sweated
His whiskers steeped in drink.

“A penny, please
Sir, by your leave”
He stretched out his palm
Push swiftly by
Don’t even cry
Rush on in mute alarm.

A bunch of rags
Skin burned by fags
His face – no face, I fear
His features gone
His pallour wan
In weeping eye no tear.

This man so sad
Had Mum and Dad
He was a couple’s son
His life no crime
In distant time
In which he once belonged.

Now he is this
Pants soaked in piss
No belt
No socks
No shoes
He has no past
No first and last
No sorrow – joy
No woes.

I name this child
So meek and mild
I name him brother
Son But lasting love
From God above
It seems he has but none.

Does he still miss
A mother’s kiss
A family-house
A home
A wife’s kind care
So debonair
A voice to bid him

Where does he sleep?
His treasures keep?
Where does he feel at peace?
Nowhere, my friend
He’ll meet his end
In solitary release.

When he is dead
And no more said
His chilled remains
He’ll have no place
In human race
No rights within our fold.

Remember yet
Cannot forget
This broken shattered frame
He’ll live a part
Within my heart
Because I know his name.

His name was Alan
That’s what I called him
That was his name.

Every man should have a nameThe name defines the man.

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