Tanka

In a cold doorway

he huddles in an old mac

his breath visible

like mist in the air

The morning brings grim release

Beautiful lady,

perched on a stool in the bar

she asks for a light

for the cigarette she holds

a ruse to attract clients

skinheads in black boots

hang around outside the shop

waiting for their chance

to make their views know round here

with fists, blunt bats and sharp knives

The needle goes in,

the plunger pulled back slightly

until a bloom of red shows

then down, forcing the drug inside

The first hit was the best though