by Tracy Davidson
No locals use this bus shelter at night. Few use it in the daytime. Something about these three urine-stained, graffiti-marked walls drives them away.
Some smell decay. Some hear voices. Some see shadows dance. And some feel sharp slashes across backs and bellies, though no wounds appear.
Such sensations deepen in the dark. Only out-of-towners stop here then.
Like this one. He looks lost. Lonely. We like them lonely. They don’t get missed.
He shivers, despite the humidity. My invisible sisters surround him, begin their games. I let them play. It’s been a while.
Tomorrow, another shadow will dance here.
Tracy Davidson lives in Warwickshire, England, and writes poetry and flash fiction. Her work has appeared in various publications and anthologies, including: Poet’s Market, Mslexia, Atlas Poetica, Modern Haiku, The Binnacle, Artificium, Shooter, Journey to Crone, The Great Gatsby Anthology, WAR, In Protest: 150 Poems for Human Rights.