An old oil can
Burns sea salted driftwood
In a night
That swallows whole
The ancient surf
Batters sand
They huddle around
For warmth.
These lost souls
Share their alcohol
Earned by begging
On a dirty street
Each has a story to tell
But this is not the time
Gradually each to sleep
Succumbing to the wine.
The morning breaks
As do the waves
Life now in technicolor
Hard and bright
Back to the dirty street
Beg again until the night.