Crossing Castellana at Colón

Waiting in the sun at Castellana
The pedestrian light was on red
We all chance it
I was thinking about it, too
The woman was standing opposite

Colón junction – big, wide, fast and busy
I’d seen her walking up
Blonde hair, long, greying
Colourful clothes – hippie-like
Shopping-bags in her hands
The expensive shops in Goya and Serrano
She stepped off the kerb and struck out

The car was a grey one
Short, sharp shrieks came from the tarmac
The car hopped and skipped
doing uncarlike things
The woman bounced back towards the kerb
still in the road – standing
The car had stopped

When the lights changed
the woman struck out again
A man got out of the car
He was wearing a blue and white shirt
his hair grey – high and brushed-back
He stood by the open door, unsteady

She stopped in the road and turned
seemed to hesitate, then walked towards him
He reached out and touched her shoulder
I walked past all this to reach the Goya side
She was still holding her bags

They were speaking
She shook her head, then nodded
The man touched her arm again
then walked back to his car
She started across the road

Two policemen were watching
One walked into the road and met her
He took her back to where she’d started

They looked like parent and child
He bulky in black with heavy gun at his side
She nodding at something he’d said
He scratched his head and waved his arm
pointing towards the signal
She raised the bags in a gesture
and struck out once again

The policeman followed her half way
then took the diagonal back to his mate
She made it across to Genova
I turned and walked up Goya
hoping to find a cashpoint and cool bar
thinking of Jobie’s Five-Fifty K3
It was the first four I’d been on

That feeling – sat on the back
Jobie going through the gears
Revs climbing, knocking it up
first, second, third, fourth
Engine speed rising forever
It felt like a turbine
tingling through my feet

Man, that’s a long time ago