Freeloaders by Ian Lewis Copestick

Brit Grit, Ian Copestick, Poetry, Punk Noir Magazine


He woke at about 10:30.
There was no point in
making coffee, he was
out of milk and sugar.
Black coffee he could
drink, but without
sugar ? Yuk !
So, as soon as he
was dressed, he was
out of the flat, down
the stairs and out.
Heading into town.
As he walked up
Stafford Street he
saw that the usual
crowd of drunks
and junkies were
sitting on the steps
of the D.H.S.S. building.
They were there every
day, or a different
but identical looking
crew. He guessed that
either they were waiting
for a payment, or
waiting for a friend
to get a payment so
they could scrounge
off them until the
money was spent.
He couldn’t judge,
he’d been in both
positions himself.
In fact, as he walked
towards the post
office to cash his
giro, he knew that
he was bound to
pick up a couple of
freeloaders himself.
That was the way
of the world.