He is quick

He is quick

Leading with his head

Leaning forward into the wind

The skin hanging from his neck

A billowing foresail.

A woman runs with a baby chair

Giving it a gentle push

At every third step.

She probably looks as good

As she can be,

I hope it is appreciated.

There is no fly screen

The baby is covered

In bloody red dots

She will need more than a nappy change.

The coffee is strong

The guy on the next table

Looks like the horse he just ate.

The woman picks at her food

Demurely

It is crushed avocado on toast

Which seems very sad

This is a cafe and not the Ritz

Who was a big Swiss cheese

Back in the early part

Of the 20th century.

I wonder if he ate on the run.

Did he have a neck like a Giraffe,

Wear lycra

Cover up with a snood and jumper

To walk to the car,

When it would be warm enough

To wear shorts and a singlet

In County Durham,

Where guys go topless

To football matches in the winter.

Their nipples get frostbite

But they are rock steady.

Some have more than one belly.

It’s not that I’m homesick

But a little reality check

From time to time is a good thing.

The noise from two tables over,

Where the guys compete

To see who can speak the loudest,

Threatens to break the moment.

Why is it the loudest voice

Spouts the wildest claim?

I get to my feet

Check my pockets for holes

Which is an old habit

From the time of brass farthings,

Only then do I start to run.

If I was a fox

I would beat the chasing pack

It is a matter of pride.

How stupid is that?

But it does allow for a glass of wine

Maybe a beer or two

And from any standpoint

That smacks of good, sound

Judgement.