Genre: Art, Travel, Commute, Observation, Life, Society
Parte Uno
A NOU PLACE: My commute
by Caoimhe O’Neill
There is a woman I pass
Every morning,
Underground in a walkway of Diego de Leon,
She sings the same ABBA song.
Every morning.
Her voice is impaled by her own poverty,
A voice squealing to ignorant and bustling passers-by.
They have coins slouching in their
Pockets, bags, purses.
But none clinks its way to her.
There is a man when I emerge from the metro at Santiago Bernabéu.
I pass the scooters in their messy rows.
I pass the people of Madrid’s
“Canary Wharf”
With their suits and golden euros.
This man he leans against a pillar,
Everyday, mid-morning I watch his leg laze solemnly as the other props him up.
He smokes, he leans, he smokes, he never leaves and only his clothes and the date changes.
He contemplates or he…
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