Blue plastic

 
 
Past the train station.
Its old stones and arching glass having seen
Tanks and wars and revolutions.

I stood amongst shoppers with garish bags
From all the top brands.

Then past me walked a woman in blue plastic
With tears running down her face
As she saw the cold night ahead living on the street.

And I wanted to give her something to help
But I didn’t.

I stopped and turned and watched her walk away
Through the hurried, selfish crowd.

Now it’s I who weep.
For my weakness.
 
 

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