He’s dropped his phone but his back’s
packed in so he has a choice to make:
ask me
or the chess playing couple opposite him
or the chap pretending to read the paper
or the mother hoping her daughter
will stay asleep in her pram long enough
for one more mini bottle of prosecco
or the guy from the charity shop flicking
through the scuffed Where’s Wally book
he bought for his nephew
or his oldest pal next to him desperate
to finally do something useful
or attenpt to pick it up himself.
His guttural scream is enough
to tell you what happened next.

Carl Burkitt 2024