Angele Toomey Poetry

This poem was inspired by a combination of recent experiences, one of which happened today.

I was walking through an underpass on my way to the train station, it is quite popular it lets you avoid witing to cross the road and it gives easy access to the Station. This afternoon there was a crumbling foam mattress, some food wrappers, and the scent of human activity.

Sitting on the train, I keep thinking about how we all experience the city differently: the rich and the poor; the go-getters and that whilers; the mobile and the stationary. The French title was deliberately chosen.

Ode aux toilettes
A homeless person
cocooned in old blankets
sleeps outside Gucci.
We all pretend we can't see.

There's a long queue 
for lottery tickets, beer, and cigarettes
and a hidden one for longing
or regrets.

The bitterness of unfulfilled ambition 
fades faster than the smell
of stale piss
on these dirty streets.