this boys thoughts...
Th
Things that he doesn't like
what a joke he mumbles
as he buttons up his clean, white, freshly pressed shirt
he's seen himself a million times in this mirror
he rises at 6:30, showers then
shaves his face with the
razor that he bought when he turned forty
his method has never changed
he likes to start at his neck and make his way up
sometimes pretending that he is a sculpture
and that the shaving cream is the crude rock that needs to be chipped away
when he was a teenager he swore that he would not become one of them
but now he pretends that he never had those thoughts
as he steps onto the bus, inserting his multirider ticket into the machine
making his way to a vacant seat, scratching his bald head
and holding today's paper under his arm.
Funding for an old man
he thought about his wife the other day
she could've threaded this needle
she still had good eyes
he had the good mind
he remembered the time when he first took her out
her brother was much older than him and didn't like boys going out with her
he decided to style his hair like her brother's
so that he would be accepted
it didn't work
he still hated him
little did her brother know
that they would spend the most part of their lives together
and that he would be his brother in law
he thinks about her all the time now as he sits in the rocking chair
that he made for her when they got married
he doesn't know much about heaven
or even if there is one
but he is certain
that if there is
he would like to spend all his heavenly days
with her.
Watching Rainclouds
lying in grass
staring at the city skyscape
watching clouds rush over the buildings from behind
what if they were in a ring and expected to fight?
they would be knocked down deemed incapable, useless
hindered by height...
It's not hard to imagine a building in a fight
as they all compete against each other
reaching for the same sky
why would I imagine this?
well...I don't why
but it beats watching buildings
against a powerless
sky.
Plastic seats with metal rails
You've been watching this girl
for the whole bus trip back to your house
it's probably one of those infatuation things
but you can't stop looking
it's late afternoon and school has finished
homework, assignments and textbooks
sit on your study desk waiting for you
they seem completely irrelevant
as you watch the rough road
move her body up and down on the seat
maybe she lives near me?
I haven't seen her before?
sneaking glances you maintain this constant surveillance
every glance is like taking a shot in a game of Russian roulette
so dangerous and exciting
yet so stupid
you watch and think of ways to be interesting, funny and cute
but those things have never really been your forte
movement stirs your heart
she reaches for the black strip
stands up and glides through the graffiti covered seats
to the door
no this can't be happening you think
as you watch her step from the bus...
hair blowing forward
propelled by its slipstream...
brakes off
it pulls away, leaving another stop
with you and your petty feelings aboard
maybe she will catch this bus tomorrow?
maybe I will talk to her then?
but why break a record? you think
as you silently wave to the bus driver
getting off at your stop.
Movements don't get old
such agility for an old man
I expected him to fall down
but he moved fast
faster than any twelve year old
faster than any
romeo, making his first move
he is an old man
and I guess that's
all he'll ever be
to me.
Penguins and rain
men in suits running
i've never seen such a sight
they look like children
eating with fingers at an expensive restaurant
they look funny
not funny enough to make me want to laugh
but funny enough to make my bored, static face move
mobile phones, shiny cars and desks are their homes
they look strange out here
and
it's hard to stop and think
that these people are defined to me
purely by their clothes.
Wheels on chairs
computer screen glare lights the room once again
keyboard tapping
computer hacking
his life is a telephone cord
he is at his social peak when he is at his most anti-social
this umbilical cord to the world
is all that separates him from total isolation
inquiring faces, evil looks and uncomfortable stares
he could go out, but it's safer
to sit here, comfortable
enjoying this invention
of wheels on chairs.
Mr forgethisname
Passionately discussing molecular equations
to a bunch of teenagers.
Hand gestures, tone changes and vibrant coloured shirts
can't bring back
what he once had
----------
it was the 50s
when he was a young, fresh faced, smooth skinned
science teacher
with the same things on his mind
as what his students probably have on theirs today
----------
drained of charisma
he slams his hand on the desk
"You will listen to me!"
----------
they laugh
he looks so fragile
that the students can't believe
that the sudden impact didn't shatter
the bones in his hand
----------
he has lost all respect from the them
they even call him gramps
these days are a far cry
from the days
when he would, bounce around
passionately discussing molecular equations
without feeling his joints cracking, crunching
and aching
as he wipes white chalk dust from his blackboard.
You can read more if you want...
No!, let me off this painful ride!