On a street in Antiguo,
a man on a quad bike
waits at the lights,
munching a handful
of Sour Cream Pringles
from a packet by his crotch -
a bright white worm is
partially stuck to the tyre
of a parked jeep,
looking otherworldly
against the jet black rubber -
a man wanders over
and welcomes the worm
with a cloud of
cigarette smoke,
before squishing it
with his plimsol -
a couple of floors up,
through open window shutters
an elderly woman stares
down and cries,
as a young woman
on a balcony to the right
starts playing the violin
and grins,
beautifully.
Gwil James Thomas is a novelist, poet and inept musician from Bristol, England. He is a Best of The Net nominee whose work can be found widely in print and also online. He is currently laying
low somewhere in Northern Spain. His fourth poetry chapbook - Writing Beer, Drinking Poetry (Concrete Meat Press) can be found here:
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