Chennai

When I was a student I seemed rather prone

to being accosted by panhandlers –

which conflicted me. Was I being kind,

or conned? I remember one incident

particularly – at Liverpool’s Pier Head –

that was an impromptu lesson about

the British Empire’s maritime past.

I had disembarked from the Woodside Ferry

and was crossing the cobbles to the bus

for the Student’s Union on Brownlow Hill

to join some friends for an evening of Guinness

when a man, old enough to be my father,

stopped me politely. He was wearing a tie,

but ill-matched jacket and trousers. He explained

that he was a Lascar from Chennai;

showed me his Merchant Navy passbook

with lists of ships he had sailed on, and ports

he had travelled to; showed me the long, deep scar

livid on his right leg, that had stranded him

at the city’s Merchant Seamen’s Mission;

and that I had a very, very kind face.

I cannot remember how much I gave him.

It took me many years to realise

that to be kind is to be privileged.