Wednesday, 22 February 2012

Back To The City


Late afternoon. The streets are cold. Wind cuts through clothes, skin to bone. Three or four men walk up the road clutching beer cans. One of them has a head like a plucked chicken. He’s smoking a joint, unashamedly, unabashedly in the daylight street as if the country’s laws had completely passed him by.

The shops are lit but no-one’s inside. The only place doing a brisk trade is the Job Centre. I duck into a doorway to get out of the wind. Light a small cigar. There’s plenty of raw material around here if you’re thinking of being the next Charles Dickens. A woman in a purple coat walks by talking into her phone. ‘Is it easy’, she says, ‘to bleed a radiator?’

That afternoon, I look out of the window, boredom making me heavy. Tower blocks like ships docked on land. Sudden brightening of the sun. It stains the walls of the nearest block. A mellow, red colour like fortified wine. The gulls blush to a rose-quartz colour.

2 comments:

  1. these moments when light
    changes our lives into
    prism's of joy
    these moments.

    ~robert

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thank you for your beautiful comment Robert. A poem in itself...

    ReplyDelete

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