Awkwardly,
He walks over
The square, his shopping
Swinging
In his closed
Hand.

Slowly, he extracts the scratchcard.
Deftly, he uncovers the panels.
Pitifully, the scratchcard slides from his grasp.
Heavily, he collapses onto the shelter seat.

Awkwardly,
He fumbles in
His shopping for today's
Distraction.
Waiting for the next
Bus to nowhere.

There's a certain kind of magic-
in the surging of the streets,
pounding tired feet,
children squealing,
prams wheeling,
a tide unquelled by grey sky
a sparkle in the dull hope of a scratchcard owners eye

this is the city exhaling fumes
and inhaling dreams