The ‘meal deal’ was ugly
a depressed-looking cheese and pickle sandwich, fizzy drink
with a side of crinkle-cut sodden chips.
A guy with a vivid facial scar attacks his as if it might be
his last meal ever
then again, maybe he knows something I don’t!
I like sitting here, watching the people, this is
life at its rawest.
Young mothers, old mothers, kids without parents,
men with bald heads, women with bad breath
drunks, addicts – they all come here
to sit, whilst filling their lonely, disappointed, faces.
How many make it out alive, stepping back into
some form of meaningful life.
I wonder which of them I will
see again tomorrow, same place
same time -
each of us a sandwich short of a full belly
nourishing our regular daily existence –
on the ‘meal deal’
of that day….