Category: Rituals

Work, employment, jobs,
even the best have parts wished bypassed
or dumped,
this one had been – on me.
The nexus to function seemed tenuous, remote,
a predominantly female staff
and
issuing their uniforms.

There’s no way around it : “ what size?”
Size – one of the things woman don’t want to tell men.

Ghastly – the most shapeless thing human or God ever designed
if God, it must have been at 4.59pm on the sixth day,
as plain as newsprint
as couture as an army blanket.

I once asked if they wanted to change
absolutely not, they’re great, we like them : unanimous
later
understanding descended.
The woman who made them was clever with tailoring
and smart with size –
12 equals 10
14 equals 12
16 equals 14

 

Boys squeezed into testes lifting trousers
wore three button undone shirts,
styled big hair
and Brut or Old Spice
slouched and acted cool, or tried to.

Abba chirped Dancing Queen

Girls wore dresses to the knees
their best bra
pantyhose as the first line of defence
and, as a hedge against boldness – sensible briefs.

Peter Frampton loved his baby’s way

The already coupled took the floor
look …. no waiting or asking or begging
then cool boys, the footballers and athletes with,
the popular, pretty and hot.

Queen, Bohemian Rhapsodised

The median and mediocre
self-conscious, in their no spare cash spared best,
shuffle timidly hoping to be asked …… or not declined.
YES !
Bitch.

The Eagles took it to the limit

Eyes and small talk
closer
oops – sorry
“would you like to…”

Led Zepplin stairway-ed to heaven

light spun from strobe globes
dark corners
kisses, fumbling’s, clutched breasts
hands pushed away
allowed to linger
or explore.

Almost every sized church has them –
devout volunteers
acolytes performing sub-divine
sacred cleaning
preparations
custodial functions –
they did for many years
with dedication, devotion and piety.

A career defector in my 40’s
a refugee from ceremony,
faith prefers low-key weekday to high Mass Sunday.
Possibly it was the backpack –
imagination imagined a burglar’s sack in disguise
or the dishevelment, of weather, sweat and cycle helmet
was classified shifty.
Perhaps it was verisimitude – I looked like ….
or was reminiscent of …

They kept an eye on me – a very human eye
one that followed, vigilantly, hopefully, perhaps.
Once in an artefact lined side chapel
she stood half metre behind – to the left
I turned
at 45°, there he was – reinforcements if needed.
I stopped going, felt tainted, marked
someone found not guilty rather than innocent.