Commuter Poem

Posted: December 7, 2017 in Uncategorized

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.

Advertisements

What do YOU think? That's what matters. Please comment!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s