(image-Liam Spencer)

 

 

 

Deansgate Bridge

The rain runs through the gaps in the metalwork

And makes its way onto the blue brick.

Running in the veins along the mortar creases of the giant supports.

 

He was sat slumped on the card

Like a washing load tipped out.

Head up and looking to me,

With hands out, he straightened a cig.

 

 Unnoticed, nudged and knocked

 it tumbled,

it turned

 in the loose air of the bridge.

 

His half swipe missed

And wild eyed he abandoned it and looked to me again.

 

                                                                        In

                                                                                the

                                                                                      moment

                                                                                               time

                                                                                                      stuttered,

(his first draw, the best one, was polluted with the damp air of the roadside),

And almost halted as the cig bounced end down, fell, rolled

And was sucked into the mortar led stream to the gutter.