More Eyes

I notice the raincoat swaddled figure first. Thin, he climbed upon his bicycle at the kerb’s edge.

Face, difficult to see within a hood. But missing his pedal through eagerness to be seen by the woman across the road with a push chair.

He calls hello to her. I can hear it twice the distance, but she keeps her gaze ahead.

He calls again, still rich with the pleasure of being on his bicycle – Hello.

She does not look, or perhaps a flickered glance, but no response.

Once more he calls.

Less sure now.

Pleasure faltering.

She walks on and I draw close, seeing within the hood.

Pain on the face of a mind that did not grow up in a body that did.

Slump shouldered hurt in open closed eyes.

Copyright ©2001 Tony Crisp