Boxed In (Shoreditch)

"Hi, I'm a street poet," he said.

Big smile arrived on his face whilst matching my brisk strides; He followed, I led.

Outside Shoreditch High Street station and I guess his business was the busking kind. Through unwelcome communication, this assumption was soon affirmed,

he wasn't my friend but friendly

so far, then it turned...

We turned a sharp left, he walked on my right side. He was tall, odd, shifty and sticking to me tight.

"It's nice to meet nice people tonight." I issued my final glance of goodbye on a wet Tuesday night.

I sought #BoxedIn the free event for poets and thought to invite him but something wasn't right.

"Pick a subject, any subject and I'll tell you a poem,"

"How about I do one for you? I'm pretty broke too - anyway no change, only card. You know? - Beep, beep! That kind of thing..."

"That's OK, I accept card too! There's a cash machine nearby..."

"What makes you think I have a card?" I stopped dead, finding my target in his left eye.

"You just TOLD me so!" was his reply.

"Yes. An Oyster card, for tra-vel-ing."

"Oh you're a COMEDIAN!!!"

"I accept card...?" I laughed.

(You think I was too harsh?)