People were walking down
The brick filled street of
Bricky maisonettes, walking
With the gait of woodland
Strolling, nowhere stepping
Just moving for the feeling
The view, and maybe a pub lunch.
Not today, some took a path
Straight down the tarmac, just
To add variety, for a different feel,
Like dried out lava, on island beaches.
Occassionally, they move aside,
To let a car or JustEat bike pass,
Calcuttans swerving for a holy cow.
Another, on my side of the pavement
He has two small kids in tow, so
I cross over, give up my sunnier
Track, they have the right of way.
Another now on the shady side,
Coast is clear, I move back to the
Sunny side after a brief going
Down the middle of the road, over
The white line, thinking how it looks
Like a food voucher – “Cut here along
The dotted line”.
Winds blow off the Wanstead Flats,
Three bald guys add a touch of frying
Fat to the gust. Their open barbeque is
Borderline criminal, but I smile across
From my side. The air is otherwise
Free, I spot a lone rainbow arching
Over the word “Hope” written
Carefully by a child.