Sta.sh
Slowly taking his crayon, pens, lined paper -- you looked at your watch
He, all of 10, disappears writing his work -- too busy as you wander
Laying on the floor he writes it slowly -- not paying attention
He sits there in the hallway holding the sign -- the train is late
"It's Sometimes Pointless" it says, coffee stains -- you stop and stare
There is a crowd forming slowly, he looks straight ahead -- what is he doing?
He holds it with two small fingers, blank look cast -- you squint
It was then they started, carrying on about the sign -- they got angry
How it was not this nor that, prettily done, message wrong -- letters of protest
The security guards asked him to move on, after complaints -- noisy they were
Where was his parents, what was he doing there - looks of disgust
He just disappeared off, leaving his sign
Tossing in the streets blowing loudly
And the commuters returned to their trains
Smiling at a job well done.
