The fat faced boy
With beef between his teeth
Has a cry
Like an Indian grandmother
His shoulder snapped
From an overloaded luggage rack
On the early morning train,
Blood painting his face
With sickly horror.

The skyline outside
A hovering kestrel
Is electrified by pylon wires
And drops like spit
From the top
Of a tower block,
A single feather
Floating behind
Like a death hymn.

I stay forever calm,
Always the witness
Never the victim,
A key-scratched name
On a window,
A seat cushion faded by sun,
A marker pen tag
On a heater,
A coffee stain
Alone on a table.

Gasp your first
Morning breath
As it hangs
In the crisp winter air
And you will see me
Pulling the tears
From your eyes,
A body simply living on rhythms,
A possible curse
Or a dream without sleep,

I barely exist.


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