Agora: The Derelict... Poem by Audrey Stephenson

When you laugh, bliss yanks at the tessles of your hair in the cold night air. The neon blue light from the glass agora balcony shoots up, illuminating the smoke that climbs out of a bohemian's mouth.

You crawl downstairs, tightly gripping the rail, and glide to the bar. You order your latte and dehydrated spinach chips, admiring the flower of two dollar bills nailed to a post. You tip your barista with the funny slavic accent and saunter over to a window seat.

Sipping your coffee, you flip through a photography magazine. The center piece is a collage of homeless people. One picture catches your attention. Trampled under filth, a quadrapeligiac derelict nudges through his shattered surroundings. The picture is in black and white.
You turn the page to find another black and white photograph. A boy is conquering a crumbling piano.

You finish your coffee and waltz through the big stone doorway. With Greek music and smoke still dripping from you, a man asks for spare change. You ignore him as you walk to your unlocked car, your pockets jingling.