Iustitia

I named you Iustitia.
I see you every morning;
me, on my way to work, and
you, on your bench
near the train station.

Your name is Iustitia,
but you do not quite look like her.
Instead of sword and scale
you carry cigarettes and cheap wine-
you smell of it.

Every morning I see you perched
on the same old bench, always
looking worse
than the day before.

And daily, on my way to work,
I watch you fade, ever so slowly,
fade away.
Never taking notice, you consider me
just another passerby.

And you will sit on your bench
when I come back from work.
Your once red rain coat on,
the bottle of wine will be gone.
The feeling of remorse, though
will haunt you long.

Hope has left you on shivery legs.
Your once red rain coat does not warm you,
but you will wear it until the end.
Only waiting for it
to come.