If a man is not ready to risk his life, where is his dignity?I wrote this about a year ago and it sums things up quite well. The old man in my bathroom There’s an old man in my bathroom standing in my usual place. He had the cheek to use my soap and razor on his face. His arse looked rather scraggy and his jowls were quite distinct He cleaned his teeth with my tooth brush and spat into my sink. If I see him there again sometime I won’t shoo him away I felt as if I knew him, maybe in his younger days. He must have been quite handsome in a 60’s kind of way But the years had not been kind to him I’m very sad to say. I know if I could talk with him he’d see my point of view I’d like to chat with someone, share an argument or two. His hair is Gray, his eyes are blue he has a rakish smile But I can tell that he’d decline if asked to run a mile. An old tattoo upon his arm tells of his misspent youth I wonder what regrets he has, were he to speak the truth. There’s an old man in my bathroom I see him across the sink His eyes are red his tongue is furred do you think it’s caused by drink? He’s tall and slim but Oh! That belly Do you think he’s watching too much telly? His eyes still hold a twinkle that’s very plain to see I’ll share my bathroom with him for one day he could be me. He looks to me quite lonely, by himself and all alone Why can’t he be adopted and found a loving home? There’s an old man in my bathroom I see him every day He looks as if he owns the place I think he’s here to stay.