The world is disjointed for me at the moment. There are snatches of parts of images that stick to me like unoticed ejections of snot. This 'poem' that I have left, quite obviously in the flash fiction section, is all about these things.
Bus Stop.
James spoke in a calm flat voice. He didn’t turn round in his chair to look at the woman in the doorway. “Jan, look at this guy here.” James pointed out of the window. “Idiot is waiting at a bust stop that is out of service.” Jan followed her bosses finger outside. There really was a man there; there he stood. Her husband, just waiting.
Opposite the school…
Jessica’s Three Fingers.
Jessica Mable Thorn, you may remember her, was not well liked at school. The other girls found her annoying to talk to. She refused to play along with their social conventions. Jessica didn’t mind; she stood, in her breaks, next to the school fence. The one on the opposite side of the playground from the road. The links in the fence were big enough for the three main fingers of her hand to fit through.
When he came close enough, the giant bull would let the little girl stroke down his nose. Jessica Mable Thorn would introduce herself, to the bull, everyday. It was a formal tradition she found very comforting.
The bull came to the little girl hoping, not for attention – the touch of her fingers, but for drugs. Once, A boy in the class above Jessica had stolen his brothers Cannabis bud (the boys brother being 17) and had fed the whole eighth of an ounce to the bull.
On that occasion the children at the school had talked about the coming rain, that never came. It would have to be heavy to make a bull that big lie down all day.
Drugged eyes dilate…
Your Eye.
What actually happens inside your eye and your brain when the light level changes? You can’t feel it, and you don’t notice your field of vision changing. The hole in your eye, which is strangely large to start with, gets smaller. Surely this means, when there is plenty of light, you see less than when the level of light is low. I know that the pupil gets bigger to let more light in – but surely it lets in light for more directions as well. Maybe the answer is in the lens.
Other people are magnified…
Old Men, Chip shop.
Dirty old men with missing teeth standing around on the platform. This is the Watford I come home to tonight. Ice pricked darkness, cackling old hags, sitting outside the station smoking menthol cigarettes. This is the Watford I come home to tonight. Some yelling blond under a street light outside the chip shop; not angry, just unheard by a figure in a car. This is the Watford I come home to tonight. A warm living room and a hot bowl of soup. This is the Watford I came home to tonight.
Inconsequential…
George.
No work for George, the scrawny freelance florist. Soupy eyed and Awfully thin, with hair like structural cables. A nose you could open a beer bottle on, in a fix, at a party. Not that she would ever go; sighing it off as something other people do. Not for old George in her drab cotton dress. Depressed, loyal, weak in the arm and soft in the heart. Coffee or Tea and never to bed.
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