There’s a bloke over there sitting on a bench

Rolling a cigarette

Long ginger hair in a pony tail

A beard glasses and flat cap

His dog and a can of coke

 

Now there’s a bloke slightly older

With a stick who sits down beside him

And starts to chat

Mr ponytail dog and beard doesn’t seem to mind

Because they are having the chat of blokes

The chat that chews the weather

And all experiences to bits

The kind that turns off the words

From head to mouth

No interruption or fears

Of what others might think

No filters

No smut or innuendo necessary

As they dance the dance of blokes

Just talk of where they are going

What the day may bring

And maybe what they have left behind

No awkwardness in the silence in between

As one says he’s waiting for the twelve twenty- nine

The bus that will eventually take him back

From where he has come

 

The chat of blokes

Spotted and intermittent like todays

Poor attempt at rain

Until eventually the bloke with the stick gets up

And there’s a kind of nodding apology from both

See you then and bye

No more is said or done

All is final and complete

And the day carries on

Will they ever meet again?

Who knows?

They don’t

But then they have had

The chat of blokes