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
in the loose air of the bridge.
His half swipe missed
And wild eyed he abandoned it and looked to me again.
(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.