Bradford Place

In Bradford Place Beneath the towering cenotaph that stands, The taxis wait, Patiently, All queued within a line. Each wears a coat of midnight black That shines like new with polished chrome, Their amber signs 'For Hire' are lit Like beacons as they glow. The drivers lean against the wall To pass the dragging time away, Laughing, Joking, And talking there amongst themselves. I listen yet can't understand A single word that they do say It seems so out of place Within this town I call my home. An old lady seated all alone Upon the bench beside the road, Does quietly reads her Mills & Boon And wipes away a tear. And as she stare upon the page She takes a sandwich from her bag, Then takes a small and nimble bite And slowly starts to chew. The pigeons gather round her feet Whilst pecking at the fallen crumbs, Which lie upon the pavement And they never seem to stray. From Bradford place As buses crammed with shoppers come and go, Beneath the skies that threaten rain And offer little hope.