Old Man In The Crowd Poem by Noor Shihadeh

On my own, clutching my walking-stick,
Gazing at the huge huddle of screaming children,
Bumping their balloons at me,
Unsteadily holding my walking-stick
As I am ready to fall down
Without anyone to help me.

Crunch, buffle, squash!
Crunching in the blanket of snow,
Cannot find anywhere to sit
As the bee-hive swarm
Around me
Without anyone to help me.

Megaphones booming so loud,
Making my ears pop,
And the yelling children
All pushing each other
Making skids across the ground and
Making great big snowballs,
Some of which hitting my freezing fragile body,
Without anyone to help me.

Wafting smell of chestnuts,
Drifting in the air
Making me so hungry
Mixing in with the hot-dogs and sweet-corn
Which I cannot afford.
I wish somebody would help me
I cannot take it no longer...


This was based on L.S Lowry's painting of a crowd gathered at a funfair in winter, so I decided If I would imagine I was an old man as one of the people in the painting.