New Friend
I wonder if she might look over here and give me one of those Rolos? The big man yesterday said something about not being supposed to eat chocolate, but surely one of them would be alright.
She looks quite content. Oh God, there’s that bloody Angelus again. Every day, same time, and everyone goes quiet for it. I’ve no idea what it’s all about but it seems to be powerful stuff.
What’s that smell of sea and diesel now? He looks absolutely filthy – he can’t possibly have any business here, in an establishment like this. I just had my bath yesterday and I don’t want to have to have another. Might get one of the thick eejits who has no idea how to go about it. If only that big man would take me home. I’m sure I’d be well fed in his house.
What’s that he’s saying? Can’t make it out. He’s pointing at the girl. The Angelus is over thank God. Might get some peace and quiet now and we can watch the cartoons on the telly together.
Oh but where is she now? I thought I might have made a new friend. They always disappear – no-one ever stays, and if they do, they’re never the kind ones.
Barbara O’Donnell grew up in West Cork and currently lives in London. She works in the operating theatres at a major teaching hospital and writes in her spare time. Barbara’s poetry has been published at Black Sheep Journal, The Screech Owl and Ink, Sweat and Tears. She is one of the editors at bogmanscannon.com and blogs at Barbara O’Donnell
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