Well, This Is What I Think

I saw him walking home

Fluoro yellow vest sun hat brown brogues neatly polished and a limp

His jacket cried out: Crossing Supervisor

And I had never spoken to someone charged

with Supervising Crossing. I was intrigued.

So I said to him, elucidate me please

Do I require supervision for just a small Crossing?

Maybe a passing annoyance? Something trivial?

Like when my skinny cafe latte is only warmed through and not hot, again?

Or can I manage that amount of Crossing on my own recognisance?

Maybe your supervision is required for a full-blown Crossing?

Like yelling at that suicidal office worker stepping off the kerb, eyes fixed on his phone?

And yes: I think you’d better Supervise me for when I next have to deal with that guy: the one who thinks the world isn’t frying slowly …

… this idiot on the radio, right now

I think my Crossing with him is heading towards incandescent. Supernova.

He glanced at me.

I don’t think he could hear me through the glass.

And the recycling truck was emptying bottles.

Turned and weaved onto a small path, and went inside the weatherboard cottage.

Bent. The cottage. And him.

So I drove on, unrequited.

And spent the day Crossing at everyone, back and forth, all unsupervised and somehow strangely anxious.