The old brick wall was always there,
but I’d left it unnoticed for a time.
It held my gaze as I wandered by,
and I saw that it had aged
a little more than time allowed,
with the trace of salt along its base
and the dust of fretting bricks,
the earth returning to its place.
The wall is marked with histories,
of weather and of time,
the stains of rain and dogs
and local drunks.
Kissing couples,
vendors,
and tennis balls
have grazed these ancient bricks.
I’ve leaned here,
conversed,
and waited for a sign.
If I could squeeze this wall
it would have so much to give
by way of story,
some of it mine.

# # #

Paul Vincent Cannon is, as yet, an unknown writer, who loves writing and also reading poetry, painting, hiking, among many things. Paul’s main day work is as a parish priest, but his true vocation is as a soul companion and guide. Paul lives in the Bunbury, a coastal city in the south-west of Western Australia, with his wife Lyn. Read more here: https://pvcann.com

Photo: Yuriy Bogdanov