Posted in Passages

Stilts

 

It wasn’t official, or even informal
he became my boss, or at least immediate superior
in the same way kids become leaders
no official anointment, they just do,
and once established, status remains.
I was new, and eager to please –
may have been a solution requiring a problem.
However it happened, he just became
I never pondered or
questioned,
even absorbing or adopting some of his
mannerisms
vernacular
and
prejudices –
women, ethnicities, religion, unionism.

Even when the tongue that seem to have a bad word for everyone
lashed me
I still admired him
for his singularity,
even after I had left.

Ebb and flow
our paths diverged – diametrically – polar opposites
the wisdom of three decades plus
a little man, with testes descended swagger
and puberty-passed moustache
tough talk passport to pull up a barroom stool
and sit with deep voices who might otherwise ridicule him.

 

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Author:

Most of my life has been spent on the bench, occasionally called into the game by extravagance or attenuation. Waiting has turned a loner into a recorder - nondescript and inconsequential, more not noticed than overlooked - the non-vantage point of children not yet considered old enough to understand. Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry is a lifetime of picking anecdotes up and not throwing them away. Stories collected like odds and ends placed in a box in the basement, the garage, the garden shed - uncertain as to what their use might be but knowing that one day there might be one.