Small groups huddled into corners,
coats hitched over shaven heads.
Others marched back and forth,
By noon a slither of sunlight
beamed into a cobbled yard,
shined by feet going nowhere.
Men jostled to capture its rays,
like fading stars,
desperate for the limelight.
Startled by the morning activity
cat sized rats.
black coats spiked and glistening.
fled between squatting legs.
six holes in the ground, overflowed.
Paper at a premium.
a rusty can of water was at hand.
Copyright © J.M. Brown 2017
Born in Glencraig Fife at the end of the 2nd World War, After many years of drifting and working, James returned to Scotland. Once retired he began to write things. Some have been published as poems and articles and with the help of Citadel playwrights performed on stage by professionals. Still married with three children and four grandchildren.