I drove past the Snack Bar the other day where twenty years before I came across the boy with the furrow in his head.
He was in his early teens, with a patch over one eye and did not speak. His mate, a little older. spoke for him. They left with a few cans of coke and cigarettes.You could do that in those days.
What happened to him? I asked the shopkeeper after the two had left.
Well, he said, they were out in the shed horsing around with a speargun when it discharged. The spear shot across the room and took off part of the boy’s head.
We both went quiet for a while as the horror sank in.
I purchased my newspaper and left.
Everytime I drive past that shop …..
I don’t like the way the branches slouch,
my grandfather would have said.
It shows a lack of moral fibre.
Grandfather did not approve of droop
though I think he could have cut the branches
The best people slouch at times.
Oscar Wilde certainly did though he was no slouch.
And Tilda Swinton and Anne Hathaway were spotted
slouching at the Golden Globes.
I like the way Fridays slouch towards the weekend.
Poems should slouch a little too.
They should not appear cinched and pained
as if wearing a tight pair of underpants.
pic courtesy of Wikipedia
Pounding the pavements of Portland,
grim, gaunt , hunch-backed,
no singing, cheery, Disney
hunchback of Notre Dame
bandy-legged, bushy eyebrowed,
Quasimodo, orange vis jacket
looks like an angry bee.