This is one of my poems – I Saw Bill

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I saw Bill yesterday when I got off the train

Bill who played the piano for our pantos

He didn’t see me there, at the foot of the steps

It was rush hour and I said ‘Bill,’

‘Yes, hello, how’s your husband? and your daughter?’ he said, without turning

He was folding his stick down to the size of a ruler, tucking it into a pouch attached to his belt,

‘I bought this pouch after the last time,’ he said.

He meant a year ago, when I saw Bill

sitting on the bench in the station, stuck waiting

someone had nicked his stick so I walked him home.

‘You’re holding everyone up,’ said a woman.

We were standing there, at the foot of the steps, but

Bill stayed cool, he’s from the Bronx, he plays the piano

 

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