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The Scuffling Man, The Scooter Boy’s Mum & The Sullen Fag Buyer

Head down, he would hurry by,

Usually in mid-morning,

To collect his newspaper

With a gait determined, yet spry;

Bearded, curt, unfashionably dressed

With polished shoes, his manner stressed;

Often he carried a letter to post…

Yet since the nation’s lockdown warning,

Little has changed for the scuffling guy,

Or indeed for the necessity of his daily routine,

Which has simply become a subversive caper,

About which to his close family he might just like to boast…

The parent accompanied her son and although she walked,

The young helmeted lad was keen to scoot;

They were following the advice from government,

Of that there was no real dispute…

However, she paused at a local store

And purchased an ice-cream for her boy,

Hardly a necessity when someone is scooting,

Or did the outing have a more sinister ploy?

He parked his car close to the shop’s front door,

Lifted his bulk and edged towards the store;

He was swarthy, glum, maybe sixty and alone,

Asked for his usual fags in a dire Brummie drone; 

Wearing a woollen hat on a warm spring morning

And a heavy coat, his gruff manner like a warning;

He left with his necessity, a packet of twenty,

For perhaps at home he has stockpiled bog rolls aplenty…

Pete Ray

April 9th 2020

The last two days and three incidents.

Ah, well, many folks are trying.

Others are simply trying…

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