he walks amongst us whispering prayers under his breath, with quick, longing glances to the Lord above. his bony fingers pressed together waiting for the blessing that never comes. he drinks from the cup, as everyone stares. judging eyes bore him down. pushing his sleeves back on his tent-like jumper, he swigs again, at the salvation cup, and lets the warmth of the liquid envelope him, forgetting for a moment where he was and how he got there. he eats the stolen scraps under the punishing sun, as passers-by walk on, throwing quick glances, and steam as they fled on past. he feasts a thousand feasts of scraps, like a pig devours its trough, and when he’s done, he rubs his stomach, as you do at christmas lunch. he asks questions that nobody answers, shuffling feet, heads down, backs turned with whispers of “busy” and “sorry” barely escaping from their small, parted lips. He is the invisible man. Invisible to you. Invisible to me. Invisible to all that see.