A man made of skin and smoke

on the bus beneath the viaduct,

pointed out the odd black brick

in the giant red bones and said

each was placed for a man lost

to the building of its ribs;

said he’d counted fifty-nine

sons as a kid.


Polite smiles; our headphones in.

He tries to stand with bags in hand,

Concertina’d in.


Traffic chaos; Man Takes Life, Plunges 100ft;

Boy Finds Medal In Gutter.


We counted sixty bricks.



IOB 23/07/13


About midasinreverse

I am a writer and teacher, living in Manchester, UK. I use this blog to share thoughts, poems, photos, etc. Life is incredibly short: we should share our experiences.
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