In This Space
Concrete and glass,
marble
and shiny stainless steel,
reflecting images
of distorted strollers,
shoppers
and coffee shoppers
passing each other by.
Walking purposefully
or aimlessly
footfalling
on the spotless tiles,
still damp
from their overnight
mechanical
wash and brush up.
Texting or talking
into phones
clamped to ears.
So much space.
No narrow streets
of tenements and courts
and terraces
with washing hanging
and children playing
or sitting on steps.
With women gossiping
to each other.
Human sounds and smells,
and animal too,
but working or wild,
not petted.
Carts on cobbles,
the sounds
and smells of industry.
Workshops, docks and factories
spewing noise
and dirt and dust
and fumes
to be mixed in
with the living
space.
A different place
for sure,
but,
in the same space.
So,
scratch the shiny surface,
lift the cheap veneer,
dig a little deeper.
Take up a tile
and scratch up
the dirt.
Sniff.
Look behind
the facades
of the people
and you will find
another place
and its people
living
in this space.
