In Two Minds



He is defined by the fast flowing crowds
Shoppers mark the place 
Swirling sideways and around
Leaving a physical space 
Marking him alone among the millions

In the void they leave
The source of the turbulence 
Has laid out his life in the street
A pile of ragged clothes that look
As he might look asleep
Plastic bags cardboard box
No shoes no home no keep

Young handsome face
Matte grey with street grime
Dark eyes steadily gazing inwards
Earnestly communing with his companions
Striding back and forth
Head and hands swinging
In time to some internal rhyme and reason
Each lap choreographed by his confusion

Twelve paces one way, twelve paces back
And the tongues inside and out click and clack

Briefly those dark eyes connect with our world
Not in recognition of this other side of life
Just a discarded cigarette butt
Jettisoned by someone in the clutter of humanity
Breaks his stride and makes him stop to snatch it up

Faces in the flow betray resentment anger scorn
Others kinder souls perhaps sadness or concern

Wisps of conversation drift across the open space
It shouldn’t be allowed 
What a damned disgrace
They can turn you know just like that
Why don’t they lock him up 
Put him in his place 

But today this gentle absorbed youth 
Poses no threat not even to himself
Today at least the weather and his companions are benign

But what happens when the days and the tongues turn sullen
What happens then to this troubled young man
Whose life is laid out in the dirt and disunion
Of this crowded cheerless London street


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