When spooked by the horn of a passing bus,
(Gone, past Micky Ds),
An angry boy trying grown-up clothes,
Finger salutes invisible foes.
Cap is lifted forty-five degrees
To let off steam;In an instant, all ashout:
"You know what? I'm mean."
Then,
Vengeance dribbling from his lips,
With gallus, rehearsed, swaggering hips,
And a single nod to his young team,
He's off again,
To live the dream.
Vivid. The hallucination of maturity evaporating like fog before the sun.
ReplyDeleteSaddens me some.
Beautifully done.
Thanks for that very poetic response Chantel!
DeleteNo matter where in the world we walk or drive, we see versions of this perfectly painted character. You did the scene poetic and literal justice.
ReplyDeleteThanks Kim. I saw this character on the way to work. It only took a second's snapshot to recognise him as someone we all know well, which, as Chantel says (above), is quite saddening. Thanks again for taking the time to read this,
DeleteDavid
hoping that in growing up my boys dont try on the finger salute, but it is reality you know...nice capture of him...
ReplyDelete