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.