Welcome to my adventures and experiments in creativity. Where writing is like running: sometimes I know where I'm going, and sometimes I see where the mood takes me.

Saturday, 11 June 2011

Comfortable In His Work (POEM)

Comfortable In His Work

Wilting air-freshener.
Frayed footwell carpets.
An engine that’s done
all these vocal exercises before.
Every day
is a red letter day
for the white learner signs;
glued to his car
for so many years,
more than comfortable in their work.

Passenger seat worn smooth –
smoother than …
well, certainly smoother
than his own bottom
(maybe not a baby’s).
Well-formed contours
embrace his generous proportions;
one cushioning the other
(but nobody knows which,
they’re just comfortable in their work).

Lesson after lesson
he watches the fuel gauge drop,
sinking quicker than his buttocks
settle into the ‘Midnight Blue’
His peers tell their pupils:
“Stay calm,
don’t worry,”
and forgive every inevitable error,
comfortable in the way they work.

That’s not his way though;
not his style.
He’s always worked
to one creed,
one adopted motto.
Only one method to deal
with novice drivers:

Give ‘em ‘L’!

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