It’s a bin, but my bread & butter
Ah! Yes, it’s another doubtful, dawn
And it’s yet another murky morning
With no money for tea, milk – breakfast.
People proudly queue up for tasty breakfast
They order, pay, collect and munch
Yummy, yummy, my mouth waters,
As I stare, salivate and starve
No money, all mornings
I’m hungry, angry, but ever ready,
Ready to race to the bin
Not for crumbs, if any at all,
But for empty disposable teacups
The stickers I peel from these cups
I trade them for tea or hot water and sugar
All eyes, as I stir the bin with my bare hand
No remorse, not stealing, as I’m not alone
We all keep an eye on this same bin.
You call it bin, to us; it’s bread & butter
It’s our life; we’re living from the bin.