Hackney Road, Tower Hamlets Graveyard. 10th & 11th February

His neck is stooped deep into his chest, burying his face beneath a ragged baseball cap. Leaning on a stick, his bones lurch along in an angular rhythm. Night traffic catches him in light. And passes. The dog looks back and nuzzles the wall while waiting. With the stick he flings an old newspaper into the road.

***

Crocuses are emerging between the gravestones. A raven’s call cracks the air. By the railings a young boy stomps along counting his steps, ‘Thirteen! Fourteen! Fifteen! Seventeen! Twelve! Thirteen!…’ His father walks a distance behind looking up at the last of the evening sky.

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