Poem of the week: Small Change by Carole Satyamurti

This must be the room of last resort,this half-lit passage under the dripping bridgewhere, on the only route to the Underground,you pass four, sometimes more, rough sleepers strung out at intervals against the wall, the same, day after day, week after week.Some are mounds under filthy quilts,some sit, savaged by the wind, as ifstunned by trains thundering overhead.

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