Scarf pulled tight, she
stares with forgotten eyes at
bags and suits and high heeled shoes
plundering the High Street.
The smell of fresh coffee and fried food
lingers in the late-November dark,
whispering seductive thoughts;
taunting her with memories of a different time.
She pulls the scarf tighter and the
rain begins to fall. The
suits and shoes march purposefully by,
hypnotised by life;
drawn to scheming shops with atmospheric lights
enticing them with more suits, more shoes;
Hiding in the shadows of her cardboard home, she
listens to half-conversations about
injustices and regret; the words
spat into the night air like
An expensive-looking coat with a depressed face
disappears into a restaurant,
ignoring a waiter with a drawn-on smile,
face glowering at a little white screen.
A bus pulls up outside,
her eyes blur,
the smell of coffee returns,
and the rain hits
hard against her knees.