Katerina

In a supermarket yard, her lovely face moved, by rain and the dark, worn clothes at present, across trolley she’s heard, where they make bets, a spirit with some spark, she comes here to rest, and just carry on, it’s a rare clerk not put to the test, when clearing this park, she won’t forget this lot, they don’t soar like larks, precise in their movement, she works at Waitrose, makes lists when off clock, but life is no joke, is there ever a chart, to enumerate corrections, gives food to no marks, all vagrants now?