He was a loiterer with time to kill, hanging around town in the wrong doorways, in the wrong clothes, in the wrong skin. If you noticed him you would look away.
One day he went into the library. Nobody spoke to him, hidden between Travel and Foreign Languages. They were too busy squeezing things into the right places, arranging things in a new order, collecting fines for the overdues.
Hidden under a newspaper, on the table, lay a book which nobody noticed (because nobody was looking for it) left open at a page where a man falls twenty feet through an open window to escape.
Yes, a rather different view of travel from that of your average tourist! A rather different sort of poem, too.
Most original, Sarah – I like it.
Thanks for commenting Jonathan – on the workshop at Erddig with Gill the other weekend she brought along some poems – one by Rebecca Hubbard which was written as a prose poem – so I took an old poem which I wasn’t happy with and changed its format – hey presto! So thanks for that idea Gill.