Metro – a poem

The doors slide
together again
in collusion
against the world
and seal us tightly
from the city
which spins forever
like a cloud
above our heads.
At the far end of the carriage
a shabby old accordion
chokes on stagnant air.

A dark-eyed musician
nurses gently back to life
the box
that holds each fragment
of his dreams.
His toes tap
to the beat of the B line
while grubby fingers
slide their way
across the keys.

The girl listens
a thousand times but still
she hears no sorrow
in the notes.
She is too young
to see behind
her mother’s smile
and so her tiny feet
join in the dance.

At Cavour
she holds out
a battered cardboard coffee cup
and smiles with
her father’s eyes
until a woman
loosens her grip
on a leather purse
and drops a coin
into the cup.

Copyright David Bastiani 2015

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About davidbastiani

I write words and sometimes they end up in the right order. I am the creator of Milo Peretti - Rome's newest private detective - and I'm currently working on my debut novel, The Colour of Weeping. I also write poetry. Sometimes I might let people read it. View all posts by davidbastiani

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