Footroo
One flight of steps down
you can smell it
the putrid odour of urine
your eyes must adjust to the darkness
then you hear it
in the distance
Clunk, thud, Clunk
the sound of metal on stone
followed by loud swears
Funk, thud, Funk
closer now
Then you see him
a begrimed creature
Hobbling on a crutch
propping his metal leg,
lost in the war
War
had broken him,
physically
furrowed pain upon his face
he still rues his lost foot
People call him “Footroo”
Cause he hops like one
he spends his days underground
away from the nastiness
new enemies abound
Peace (huh)
had shattered him,
mentally.
This is his bomb-shelter now…
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