When the rain poured down
I ran to a seafront shelter.
You were already there.
I thought you were a resident
Of a local old people's home.
I looked over towards you and nodded.
I expected someone to come for you
Imminently.
No one came, and time passed.
The rain offered no respite.
I looked at you again, and saw
The carrier bags at your feet.
I bought you some food
And made some calls.
But still no-one came.
Everyone already knew you were there.
Hotels wouldn't take you.
You told me your story
As SUVs drove by.
On my birthday
All I could be was half
A Samaritan.
I stayed until dusk.
The next day I was told
That you had moved on.