11.59 [ illustration ]
steve coel
Where's my sister?
steve coel
we see you through the laundrette window on the
high street.
huddled tightly in your blanket you are trying to keep the
cold from bones and wet hair.
you clasp a book in the dim, cheap light.
a single glove on your other hand, a hat limp against
your shin.
you are; young yet old, in your city camouflage gazing at
passing cars, coat muddied, trousers soiled.
"where's my sister?"
"where's my sister?"
you shout.
you are not a fool as later you stand at the pavement edge,
forgetful, wracked with thoughts, demons and beer.
in framed windows of fire and TVs a city will still ignore
this frightened man while small children continue to play
and cause trouble before tea.
11.59 [ illustration ]
steve coel
An 11.59 Publication
