by Christopher Smith
I was walking to work. They had already begun to melt together. Here, they were becoming one another. What a place to consummate, beneath the drooping lids of railway arches, as business-types bound for Warszawa roared overhead. It was an orgy of false legs and crackpipes, of melancholy and itching, on broken bedsprings. A magpie watched us all.
Christopher Smith, 25, lives in Sosnowiec, Poland. He is a teacher of English, and has recently self-published a book of poems and soup recipes. He loves words and Polish bakers.