By: Abbie Dunn


There is a man who lives beneath a grey, decaying bridge.

Of all the days I passed beneath this bridge, always in a rush,

I had not once thought to take notice of him.

Until one day, when the man beneath the bridge was gone.


I recall walking at my usual impatient pace,

Fumbling around in my bag for my Oyster Card,

I noticed the stained duvet that had sheltered him was now abandoned,

His bag containing all that he owned in the world, forgotten.


There was suddenly a void,

An indescribable emptiness that filled the dank space beneath that bridge.

My thoughts became clouded with concern,

Every day I hoped for his return, unable to distract myself from thoughts of him.


There was a man who lived beneath a grey and decaying bridge.

Isolated and forgotten by our ignorant and fast paced society.

As though it were an effigy, his belongings still lie in a heap,

Reminding us that this was his refuge, the place where he was not so out of place.