Let me show you the first prop
A desolate cardboard box
Under an arch
Near Liffey Street
 
Is it empty?
 
No
Young trouble's inside
Holding the future in his hands
Hands crisscrossed with scars
Blue with the cold
On a hiding to nothing
Waiting
 
Waiting you say? What for?
A bus? A fix? A lift?
Godot?
 
None of the above
Waiting for hope
 
Hope?
 
Yes
Hope
 
Will hope be along soon then?
 
No
 
I see
 
Further on, the second prop
An empty tin
Beside a woman
Sitting on the ground.
No longer young
Past her best you might say
Dressed to kill
To keep out the cold
The damp
The wind
Anything at all that might threaten equilibrium
Keep in any stray comfort
No longer in control of anything
Her role usurped by state
Three children in care
One in London
A druggie, a fixer of the worst sort
Or as she dreams
Overseas
Fulfilling the bright new future
She gave him
 
Anything else?
 
At the side of John's Lane
A weather beaten man
Homeless and ageless
Timeless too
Having no idea
Of morning or night
Only a bottle holds meaning
Drifting sideways                                                                                        Downwards
Upside down sometimes
Almost out
Stuck beside a door
Waiting
 
Excuse my asking again
Waiting for what exactly?
 
Nothing
Just waiting
His bruised face
Mirrors reality
Reflects indifference
A cruel mask of pain
 
It's curtains for him I fear
 
Yes
 
Is that it then?
Street theatre
No comedy
A bitter masque of tragedy
You might say?
 
 
Yes
You might
If it wasn't true