The words made no sense

The words made no sense

Torn out of their mouths

Half-formed

Carried on the wind as they rode by

It could be a warning

A crude joke

A cry of joy

From one boy

To the other.

Kids on bikes,

Full of themselves,

Unaware of their impact

On the old guy

Who ducked down

Into his shoes,

Head tucked in,

A tortoise

With a cracked shell.

Stood upon

Climbed over

Squashed down flat

All of his life

Taking up as little space

As humanly possible.

It was twenty years

And more

Since he was packed

Into a cardboard box,

He carried out himself,

Escorted under guard.

Security pass confiscated

Discontinued

Superseded.

He kept the box

On a shelf in the garage

Untouched.

He never went back

To the office

No nostalgic return

His post filled

With another body

Before his seat was cold.

It reminded him

Of the way his dad

Had dismissed him.

Always disappointed

With his progress

The answers to his questions.

His acumen,

Poor catching

Lack of ball control

Hand-eye coordination

General paucity of

Worthwhile skills

At anything.

Shrinking into his shoes

With every jibe

Shaply pointed

Hitting its mark,

Though invisible,

He felt them all.

He shrunk into the chair,

Wrapped in a blanket

Against the cold.

Watching life unfold

In the space between

One wall and the next.

His Dad was wrong

Invisibility was a skill

He had perfected it,

Long ago.

They are grumpy

Clunky and craggy

With creases,

Ravines and gullies

Dug deep

From top to bottom

Cold as ice

I have heard that

They are ready to crumble

It is hinted at

In that low rumble

They use

From time to time

Just before throwing jagged pieces

Out Into the world

Making a display

Of themselves

Which is very unneighbourly

Perhaps they are

Envious of the view at eye level

Where the grass grows

On the plain

The gentle ripple of it

The nature of its invite.

Mountains

Intimidate

And will keep grumbling

Even when the valley

Wants what they have,

A view,

The myth of dominion.

Viscous peaks argue with clouds

Who struggle to get up and over

Losing a few pounds in runoff

Giving the screed a lashing

Scouring the sides

Loosening a few rocks

But the mountains keep rolling.

Heedlessly

Do they grouch

To the trees

In passing

Warn them off

The higher ground

Do they feign indignation

Standing tall

Firmly planted

Morally superior

A looming presence

As the sun goes down

Taking the heat away

The drama is always there

Waiting to be found

In the shadows

In the nooks and crannies

The folds of age

Pooled in perspiration

From the exertion

Of standing tall

Losing sleep,

Like the rest of us,

They hold up the sky

From fear

Of collapse

And suffocation