turnstile operator

On Saturday afternoons
he loses
his face
and his hands swell
towards the crowds
the ball draws in.
To him, for this brief time,
people are mere
fingerers of coins;
some less agile than the rest,
some shakers,
nervous of the week gone by
since the last match
was lit.
To them, for all time,
he remains
an unexceptional pair
of hands
who grips their money like a clamp,
translates it
into action
and withdraws,
unrecognised
in the crowds
he does not touch.




KEITH ARMSTRONG

© keith armstrong 2007