Station Conversations.

A lonely figure in mismatched shoes, 
Fingerless gloves, 
And an eye blackened with a bruise 
Conquered the pavement square beside me. 
This was no concern. 
We even spoke until lunchtime. 
From government shambles to ex-wife antics, 
I soon understood she was the reason for his exile. 
 
I offered him a cigarette.
With gloves for handlebars, 

He rested on faithful iron
And sunken eyes threatened to spill all of Ophelia’s tears. 
“I’m sure you hear this all the time, but you’re beautiful” he cheers. 
These words have met my ears 100 times or more. 
But from such a tormented mouth,
My heart became heavy and fell to the floor.

- e.a.w