Poem: Poem 17
Written June 22, 2017
I’m walking to the station.
Leaving the business district.
Dodging the firework crowds that pour
down the sidewalks.
On the subway I feel like I’m escaping.
I unsnap my pink wallet and check I
have cash for cover.
The train moves silently under the city.
It moves under Pacific Centre and Robson Street.
It spits me out above the surface.
Along that strip of out of the way clubs.
Under the awning of a Chinese restaurant.
Onto the Vancouver Broadway.
Moving closer together.
Talk about poetry.
Lager tipped from a pint glass into mine.
I’ve forgotten about the
Colours and loud racket above English Bay.
There is only here:
Chatter of bar talk.
Loneliness of my purse against the chair leg.
The listening only to music.
The pints I buy too close together.
by Wendy Stewart