Watching a blind man cross the road

by poetrydiary

In the interrupted tap,
tap and tap,
tap sweep,
of your light white cane,
a railing emerges, sounding just-so-tall and hollow;
hard against your wrist,
and familiar in relation to the sudden silent space
beyond the kerb.

Creating now a pool of calm
on Oxford Street
you pause, stand still,
and trust.

Into your trust,
the world settles,
like the final gurgle of an emptying bath.
Passing sounds separate and subside,
and a nearby Rastafarian takes your arm.


An incident observed from a London bus this morning.