From the safety of my shattered glassed bus stop,

I watch him shuffle past, worn shoes,

possibly one inherited black, matches his panda

bear eyes, these days reflecting

nothing more but his own stale scuffled

disappointment and the latest craze

of hitting every crack

in the fractured pavements; dying now

but someone forgot to tell him,

so he keeps shuffling onwards,

panda eyes squinting for a point

and I watch him from the safety

surrounds of broken bus stop glass.

Ian D. Hall 2018