I see a man alone on the bridge.
Wrapped up against the cold
In a grey wool overcoat and a red chequie scarf,
He has a bag of bread at his feet.
Picking up some bread
He throws it into a sky so bright
I have to squint.
The gulls catch it in mid air
And as I pass him he greets me,
Asking if I would like to join.
- London, January 2004