From the safety of my shattered glassed bus stop,
I watch him shuffle past, worn shoes,
possibly one inherited black, matches his panda
bear eyes, these days reflecting
nothing more but his own stale scuffled
disappointment and the latest craze
of hitting every crack
in the fractured pavements; dying now
but someone forgot to tell him,
so he keeps shuffling onwards,
panda eyes squinting for a point
and I watch him from the safety
surrounds of broken bus stop glass.
Ian D. Hall 2018