This is Lucy, she walks the streets. Sometimes, she stops and sits in places where you don’t ordinarily see people stopping and sitting. When she looks, at you she looks away, and seems to be smiling. When you pass her on the street she doesn’t look at you and you dont look at her and you hear her whispering to herself as you pass. She wasn’t whispering as you approached her, so perhaps she is whispering to be heard? How can you respond? With a whisper of your own, but you have passed her now and the world of whispers has past you by and you are left to wonder what she is saying, and why she is saying it.
This is Jim and no-one talks to him.
No passer by says hello, gives him the nod or lets him know
That he is a human, whether friend or foe.
When I walk past him I say Hello or I say Howya and I let him know
That the twitching, shaking, awkward walking, poorly shaven silent man that he is,
Is there, is living, is is.
One day he approached me and asked for a smoke, his speech slurred and strained from effort.
He is not an approacher, a conversation broacher.
I had nothing for him and sayed sorry, he went on his way.
I hope when I pass him next he will ask me again, and I will happily roll a cigarette for him.