midnight motorway noises

Sauchiehall Street late on a Saturday night
is all glare.

It's a writhing, squawking, full of folk street.
Make you weak street.
It spooks that familiar feeling of mine,
that hot-headed feeling that carves lines in my forehead
as I squint in confusion at my sudden, unexpected isolation.

I keep my head down and my mouth shut,
I dodge looks and weave through broken shards of conversation.

I say nothing, my eyes focused
firmly on the pavement passing beneath me and
off up Sauchiehall Street and into town until next week.