#183 ~ Kwame

(A work in Progress – Here’s the first part)

Sitting on a bus stop off York Way

The trains that bustled through Kings Cross

Hurrying us into the new day, filled with anticipation

At what, who, when we would meet

It was only a few hours later I found out his name was Kwame.

Crouched on the red plastic benches

That OAP’s sometimes used whilst they scratched at their dentures

He looked like a poet or a pickpocket, sitting there all moody

Notebook grasped, pen fingered, ink sprawling over the battlements

of processed trees and bark.

He thought I was a star.

Ashamed, I couldn’t help but acknowledge his faux pas

No, I and the girl he had confused, were just black together

No genetic relationship, definitely not the same mother.

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One thought on “#183 ~ Kwame

  1. T says:

    what’s the story behind this?

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