When the traffic light turns green, he crosses the road.
Hundreds today, more tomorrow.
He is one of them,
a true copy of passers-by.
In the plastic bag inside ordinary things,
half a kilo of tomatoes, toilet paper,
two cans for the cat
and a few sorrows for tomorrow morning.
Thirty years, his steps the same.
The strings of habit are tied tightly
when he walks,
loops that won't untie
they also tie steps together.
He's catching the eight o'clock train.
His face stuck to the bus window,
The look was received today as well.
Life at bus stops is merciless,
unbearably heavy.
He returns home at nine.
Nothing will ever change.
And yet,
that little loop loose on the left shoe
it was a promise
How could he take one more step?
photo Pexels, https://pixabay.com
