The Wall Poem by Thomas Mullally

Gritty,
reclaim,
dusty and lame;
the Wall stares wantingly.
A passer wanders closer,
a familiar trek.
They are in unison,
yet the passer is alone;
Hand in pocket, fishing around,
rising from the cave, grasping;
Forward and gone, a blank grasp.
Hunger's fulfilled.
Eyes politely scan,
vertebrae growing closer and closer to the sandy plain.
The feeder is joined, yet he remains ever alone.
More, more, more and more join this lonely line.
Queueing into the Wall.