On A Cold Slab Of Concrete

i was reading poetry in my head
as the bus aquaplaned
along the city’s quays
heading for the train station
with little time to spare
but i remember
the bus was smelly
wet clothes over damp
stale perspiration
then the bus stopped
he lay motionless
by the entrance
on a cold slab of concrete
he face buried in the collar
of his coat
i felt a shiver up my spine
his broken body pressing down
i thought the ground might
swallow up his pain
but it didn’t
a beard cakes his face
his clothes look rough and
yet, he seems contented
as he dreams of happier days
tomorrow they’ll be forgotten

By Paolo Michell

About pmisteil

Hi, my name is Paul though I write under other names like, Thatcher and Paolo, I love literature, art and architecture their passion and drama....the contradictions. The notion of Truth-who is the person behind the mask? Or does it matter! I like long walks and longer conversations over cappuccinos in a cafe with atmosphere and the rest is a journey!
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