The globe – as a heart – thumped, cascaded its oceans over its mountains, toppled everyone little and large to the moon. Or so it seemed – to me least-wise – were it that this tennis ball was the globe, this pavement a cosmic trampoline.
My morning-walk is measured in bounces. Footsteps a-moving apace always, the fuzzy metronome shrewdly guides, a little off kilter before a little on; like this the universe cycles––my heartening conceit. Be that however it will with the legs, the mental task was breakfast, that is, to launch the mind’s arrow food-wise: the enemy hunger, the ally a stranger, and the gift––spare change.
Let me fling money at the butcher,
perhaps he’ll fling at me his sausage
––saucy-song in French, but nothing saucy my night prior; left me stiff, porky … Ho! What’s this? Pretty skirt steps out, the cold wind slips in. Lift wind, lift! Bless us a peak at ––but no, I’d only … heels clicking off ––
The night’s drunk still tap-tapping at my shoulders, straining on the neck––the hangover hangs over, brutish and clingy, overhanging – gray clouds yet not rain – but I’ll eat it away; but only when these citizens give us a coin or three. Don’t look. A songly morning this one is:
No sir, I don’t shake cup,
least of all when I wake up.
To a man in a hat, “Hey you, have you any money under there?”
“And what if I did?” he tipped it at me.
A Socrates! A right philosopher, handing me a question for a question, but none of that now, we’ll banter later over the virtues of clemency and charity––over a pint if you’re not prickly; food now, chow as they say, but also ciao, bastard … and ah, here’s a kindly one:
“Hello, mornin’, yes, good weather, have you money?” Not a philosopher, this one, but I’ll add for safe measure: “The type you’d give to me?”
“Here,” the pleasant offered.
Goodness, a coin in my hand, my right hand too, a light one though––admitted, but – Ho! – slipping it in, it adds weight to my airy pocket. The trouser pockets, that is, my other airy pocket bloats belly-wise in the wind. Button-up. Not to be undone this one. Tut tut Aeolus. ––And oh my bladder too, it seems full as well. Strolling to the bouncing ball: when shall it all explode? Turn a corner, unzip, greet the tip and …
Done, done, bestrolling again, hassling for coins. Tip a hand for … thanks chum!
idiotic investigations 