I’m just the guy eating noodles.
Not much to see here,
except a guy eating noodles.
Not much to consider here
except the stranger
shovelling a £5 dinner
into his cold mouth
whilst seated on the diligent street.
But more than once
I’ve been torn up
like a bill
over love and all its suffering.
More than once
I’ve stood alone
at the long end of the platform
and thought.
And more than once
I’ve considered what it would be like
to turn the steering wheel
a little to the left
and glide.
I’m just the guy eating noodles,
like you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem