To the Man Who Died in a Doorway in Stirling
Photo by Taufiq Klinkenborg Pexels
The weight of the world smothers you
Like a wet wool blanket
And still, you lie there.
Your eyes - dusted in grime
Follow my reflection on the ground
As my footsteps silence the sound
Of a town laid on its side.
A red umbrella flicks to the right
And you hide from the eyes of a pigtailed child,
Who skips behind a balding builder wiping pie grease
From his mouth.
I step out of their world and into space.
Over and around you I listen
And like a shell pressed upon my ear
All I can hear is the sea and my heart
Saying, I’m afraid of you.
I’m afraid if I don’t shake you
Who the hell will wake you?
But I won't shake you
For fear of hearing you rattle
Like a bag of bones.
I find your cup, drop a coin and say
‘Sorry man.’ Just like the last time
And I wonder,
When the first freeze frosts the leaves
Will you see sparkles
When I see dust.