Arrival:

It can be lonesome to the soul, arriving at the bus
station, shivering and blowing with a warm exhale.
Ominous blocks of slap dash concrete that
clad the shopping centre on the inner side.
A haven; a Gorgon for weary victims that
dare to walk through the caterpillar'ed
stores. Cyclical ratchet hums of cash registers,
swallowing their cash soufflé.

A man continues
to walk through the urban procession; a creature
of habit to allow incessant vices: first a
wave from the barista at Costa's. Same again?
Double mocha, whipped cream
and a chocolate flake? A nod of a head
With roughened hands rolling a tobacco cigarette
for a 5 minute toke.

Staring outside on barely
soap-scrubbed windows, a song of inner silence:
People briskly strolling, heads held high and
shoulders erect. Meditations on stoicism;
Episteticus no longer orates in the cobbled pavings.
His successors wading to work; bags protruding,
stomachs being filled. Own little worlds are worlds
apart, unreconcilable strangeness in the faces that
are seen peripherally.

We must have gone psychotic long ago. Just peeling
through a much leaved 'Letter to Patience.' The solace of
roving prose mutters just perceptibly to the mans
ear. Leaning over his croissant, for it's stubbornness
a buttery melt yields and keenly placed in an
awaiting mouth; an only human connection
linking predation and feeding. He waves goodbye'¦


----


Departure.

Tapping on the railings, waiting for a '15' bus.
Twenty minutes past and twenty to the minutes
of the hour. Like clockwork, nothing unusual there.

I can only think of collapsing under my covers,
age may have got the better of me. A single bed plus
a head equals sleep, a simple thought.

A woman then looks at me,
that's no usual glance!
She quickly glances away.

I'm not sure what to make of it,
Probably nothing. Standing my ground,
I place my fingers in my waistcoat.

Her hazel eyes stalk me for a millisecond,
the heart roves with a stronger
beat. Hands and head become warm.

I can only laugh inside'¦A woman
older than me giving me a look-over.
A lonely hearts ad would read:

Twenty something male with clinical thought,
likes poetry, piano and music of numerous sorts.
A dabbler; experimenter with strong constitution
is straight and seeks maiden to come into fruition'¦

A sense of glee was kept as the
hydraulic doors opened. Boarding
the '15' was not routine today

With a further view I could only smile
as I saw this woman, usher her 2
children to the lower end.

She gave me a few seconds of
her upturned lips as she departed
to wind her way through the estate.

A chance encounter may someday:
make our strangers become a little closer
as we venture through the urban ether.


(just taking the mickey in the lonely hearts bit, but the rest is a 'poety' account on the events of today; Friday 23rd Feb).


© Haymond Lam. 2007.

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