Sonder
Poetry
Last Night,
A cold gust swept through the station’s open doorway-
Disturbing the small stack of newspapers
Piled on the ground by the top-up machines.
It snaked its way to the turnstiles,
Glided through the thinning hair
Of the seething woman
Trapped at the gate beside mine
And faded into the platform beyond.
I walked past her crutches and black wheelie bag,
And dashed into the subway.
At the bottom of its steps
Where my foot came to a momentary rest
Sat a homeless man reading a book.
His trembling hands smoothed the corners
Of the hardback,
Resisting against the harsh breeze
That now rushed me through the passage,
Sank through coat and jumper
And pressed against skin,
Like wet soil seeping through a sleeping bag.
It brought me out to the rain-soaked night air,
To the scent of damp wood and sodden leaves
And bore down upon me,
Weaving itself into the scarf
Pulled tight around my head.
It guided me around the corner,
Through raindrops that now skipped and skidded
Off the shoulders of a skinny boy on a bike
Standing next to the lamppost by the post office,
His face shaded beneath a hood,
Its features hidden under a mask.
As I went to pass him,
He struck his foot off the ground
And flew down the road,
Turning the chain so fast
The spokes melted into air.
He threw his bike across the empty road
Just as another boy crossed over,
Running against wind and rain.
Taking no care,
Making his way up the wet path
To sprint by me-
On his way round the bend.
A double-decker bus followed him,
Splashing leftover rainwater
As lights flashed over its roof,
Uncloaking the fast-falling drops.
The lights spread across the foggy night sky
Before making their way home
To a helicopter hovering above.
I don’t know what any of this means,
But I ran into the masked boy again
At the corner of my street.
He was leaned against his bike under a tree,
Facing Victoria Court-
Watching the petals fall off their branches
And come to a stop at his feet.
