“Amen” Is Not Working

She walked into the Day Centre
yesterday morning… ruined.
Dressed in soaking wet clothes
and vomiting bile,
every twenty minutes or so,
she’d been trying to eat grass
and tore her stomach lining.
Been skippering-down
upon the west side
of The Great Wood
for a few months.
Weaving willow-switch baskets
and trading them for sandwiches
with a guy who runs
The Garden Centre up there.
Apparently, he was then selling them
in his shop for £10 to £20 a shot,
she must be really good at it.
Anyway, some local kids
stole her few broken tools
and flung them into the canal
right in front of her horrified face.
She spent six days
going back and fore
into that dirty, stinking water,
holding her breath
and trying to find them,
until almost dying
from hyperthermia and exhaustion.
Then, two nights ago that storm hit
and lightning struck
the old horse box
she’s been kipping in,
talk about ‘Bad Luck’
you just wouldn’t Adam and Eve it.
Her first words to me were
“I think I need help…
God’s stopped listening to me?”

Paul Tristram is a widely published Welsh writer who deals in the Lowlife, Outsider, and Outlaw genres.  He wrote his first poem as a teenager following his release from the (Infamous) Borstal ‘HMP Portland’, and he has been creating Literary Terrorism ever since. Read other articles by Paul, or visit Paul's website.