Food bank poem: Rachael Clyne

This competition raises money for Nourish Food Bank. The winning poem, by public vote, has £50 sent to Nourish in the poet’s name. Voting is by “likes” and ends 12th July 2018.

Delivery

Bill, home from hospital –
only a six-week wait for benefits.
Kim, in a halfway house, hopes
she’s done with rough sleeping.
Somewhere, the local women’s refuge
has a new mother and child.

It’s a steep climb to the organ loft
to boxes marked V, F or S –
(vegetarian, family, single).
Laden with tinned & dried goods;
I head to Morrisons, for veg, fruit,
cut-price mince; bread and no fishes.

Unlike most foodbanks,
we supply a week’s worth
of breathing-space, of dignity.
I try to gloss over the shame
of twenty-first century handouts.
I deliver, but do not save.

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