Old Shabby shuffles to one side
So as not to spoil the day
For those with jobs, a home. A child.
He trips and drops his shopping bag.
Now the street is full of laundry
And his silk shirt's just a rag
Draped across the boundary
Of esteem.
Invisible, annoying Shabby,
The once successful go-between
Relegated, by the dictates of Economy,
To the comforts of the rubbish bin.