On the 29 again,
Past the building with the corridors
and huge great door that belches out small figures
Onto the street by my windowseat.
Waifs and wonder-whys loom about,
Like bleached sails all puffed up and dancing in the wind-
Soon bent double in the driving rain,
Jerking up then down again.
Their battle rages on,
Summoning all power lost and nearly
- but not quite won,
Flickers of amber light make mockery of
eyes, wide and dull like dirty coppers.
Wretched pools of water form around creped soles-
sooty muck ponds sucking up the smoke
To stop them choking on their own syrupy nothingness.
Overhead, birds wheel
this way and that, cooing, cooing…
‘Smokers outside the hospital doors,
The saddest thing I ever saw.’
