Tuesday, 8 November 2011


I sit down on the pavement
The sidewalk of chewing gum
Dirty footprints of passers by
The plastic bags floating like tumbleweeds

There is a girl in neon pink
With a child screeching but ignored
The father blows smoke into the carriage
The fun and frolics of young love.

A man paces past me
Bag full of the cheapest cider
Talking incessesently on the phone
So common to my poor rural ears

A poet in a long coat lights a pipe
Grey hair in turbulant freefall
Finds some way into the shelter
His failure evident in every step he takes

Everyone huddles like sheep in the irish way
One girl is nestled away in hiding
The young ones have heard tales of her thievery
The stealing of money,identity,culture and space

The crows swoop past me as I write
Boarded up shop windows, my backdrop
My bus pulls up polka dotted in dust
Some get off, others stream in like cattle
I walk over and hand a man my coins
Masquerading as a child once again
My ticket discarded by my seat
I am approaching my judgement day
As I creep towards my future.

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