I saw an old man

dance a jig,

with betting slip,

waved as his flag.

 

With tombstone teeth

and nicotine nails,

long matted hair

and yellow wolf eyes.

 

His dirty clothes,

shone black with smoke,

his fragrance that of

proudest poverty.

 

I saw an old man

dance a jig today,

clutching victory,

by the betting shop door.

 

 

© Victory 2012

By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Russel-Morgan Print of a Tramp smoking cigar with cane over arm (Photo credit: Wikipedia)