You are what I have been trying to imagine all this time,
what I’ve been hoping for. You emerge from the shadows
of buildings as if out of a dream. Talbot Street looks
to hide you in its crush of bodies—shoppers, buskers,
addicts, thieves. Trust me: every corner of this city has been
pissed on. Pigeons filthy the air, burger wrappers
swirl in a poor attempt to be beautiful. A beggar unhooks
his false eye, makes us regard the dark hole
of our pity.

And yet you skip unaided by anything but
your better self—a stay against the darkness boiling
up through manhole covers, respite from the struggle.
With a little tube of Fairy Liquid and a determined look
you put your lips to the world and spite the weather.
You are showing me this is easy.