Footroo

One flight of steps down you can smell it the putrid odour of urine your eyes must adjust to the darkness then you hear it in the distance Clunk, thud, Clunk the sound of metal on stone followed by loud swears Funk, thud, Funk closer now Then you see him a begrimed creature Hobbling on a crutch propping his metal leg, lost in the war War had broken him, physically furrowed pain upon his face he still rues his lost foot People call him “Footroo” Cause he hops like one he spends his days underground away from the nastiness new enemies abound Peace (huh) had shattered him, mentally. This is his bomb-shelter now…