A week later, the dark found Darcy on a bench at the railway station. She had applied for dole money but without an address this was declined, as was a refund from the car insurance.
A vicious circle over-rules
A fledgling’s right to build a life
Rock bottom, back against the wall
A corner that cuts like a knife
No home ensures no income claimed
No income renders homeless framed
The little money she had would have to buy basic food for as long as possible. Her car had sold for a paltry sum, but needs must. There had been no tax on it and the MOT was long overdue. She had returned to it one evening to find an official notice on it. Darcy had twenty-four hours before they towed it away.
Her few remaining belongings were now stashed in a public locker and she was trying to get comfortable, yet be inconspicuous at the same time. She knew she would be moved on if she was found sleeping there.
A grumpy station master moved her on at 3am.
Out on city’s rain washed streets
With park gates locked and doorways filled
Notions stray to the morbid scene
Beneath the pier – that vagrant’s guild
Heart beats loud at ghastly thought
Determination, options sought
Huddled ‘gainst the cold sea wall
Where wind can’t bite her sodden bones
Startling crash of breaking glass
A drunkard utters cursing tones
Then fate provides a place to hide
An upturned boat above the tide
Darcy crept towards the boat and peered cautiously under the edge. There was nobody there. She dropped onto her belly and slithered underneath, dragging her bag behind her. The shingle was cold and uncomfortable but, provided no one else attempted to come in, it was relatively safe and dry.
