Big man with four wheel suitcase
(what does he keep in there?),
grey backwards baseball cap
wrapped with folded lilac bandanna,
psychedelic kerchief round the neck,
yellow Lakers shirt
and glittering visor shades.
Body moving as the way through.
Clothing and gait as assertion
in a world of unthinking assent.
All else
gets shrunk
in here.
Yo, brother ought to break it to that dude gently.
ReplyDeleteThe Lakers are dead meat.
Even the flies are leaving.
(The suitcase loaded with secondhand Albion gear?)
I tell you something, TC, I'm no shrinking violet, but I'm not the man to pass the word on. This lad was on a grand scale.
ReplyDeleteBest to afford a wide berth to a wide body and live to tell the tale, then. Discretion the better part of valour and all that.
ReplyDeleteAn observing poet may say I Am a Camera, very quietly, and in saying that, do better than being one.
(Myself, I must always remind myself -- vows of silence were invented for the bus.)
Incidentally, my granddad had a trial for the Baggies in the Thirties. It was his "what could have been" tale. A big man himself.
ReplyDeleteHe will surely have enjoyed this day, then.
ReplyDeleteMarvellous stuff. I particularly enjoyed the post match tea party.
ReplyDeleteI thought you might like that tea party. So proper, like. Also, if you look closely at the victory parade, I believe you might see a West Midlands bus in the victory caravan.
ReplyDeleteYou're right, TC. I'm pretty sure you can make out a very handsome looking tram in the far distance too.
ReplyDelete"All else"
ReplyDeletebeautiful words here/suitcase-packed poem
Thank you, Susan. Good to hear from you.
ReplyDelete