You lounged,

Scruffy, whiffy,

On Regent Street,

On concrete,

Crestfallen, yet the hope of youth

Still Illuminating your handsome face.

I recall navy eyes,

Dark circles.

Exhaustion.

 

I slowed,

Wanting to stop.

Take you for tea.

Ask questions.

I wanted to understand.

 

I wanted to help.

 

You could have been my son.

 

Yet I let my friend

Dissuade me.

Just another druggy, she said.

Nothing you can do.

 

I did nothing.

Instead, I shopped,

Selfishly,

Anthropologie.

 

 

Years later, you remain on my conscience.

I hope someone behind me

Stopped.

Asked questions.

Took you for tea.

Understood

I hope they helped you.

 

You could have been my son.

 

You are someone’s son.

 

Please forgive me.