I had £1 in my pocket. Left pocket, coat pocket.
I held it tight.
‘Spare some change please love?’
But what of this love? Who’s love? I don’t love you. You don’t know me. I’m walking by, right past you.
I reply, ‘sorry, I don’t have any spare change.’
What of spare change? Who has spare money? How would one define spare?
‘God bless you.’
What of this God? Why does he not bless you with the spare change you seek? Why do you ask for the change from strangers, when God is known as ‘all-mighty’ and women are seen as weak?
My coin is now hot.
My pocket is toasty and warm.
My mind wonders if God will return and save you, from your likelihood of doom.
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