Monday, May 30, 2011


There is this man
He’s middle aged I suppose
Closer to death
But not dying
He has grey hair
Different shades
Wavy, like a perm half a decade old
He’s got a tweed suit on
And a thin brown tie 
Perfectly placed
He’s got the paper
One of the headlines reads

Instead of watching the sun tickle the trees
And the leaves and shadows giggle and dapple on the concrete
And people talk and shit
He faces the enclave under the library
Where a little orange digger is making a lot of noise
Mainly scraping noises
Metal on concrete
Metal on metal
He cranes his head to get a closer look
He picks up the paper but he’s only pretending to read
He can’t take his eyes off the little orange digger

He takes a swig of coke
And stuffs his hand into a little packet of salt and vinegar chippies
Transfers them into his mouth
Where he has been hoarding a big pile of them

Chomp chomp chomp
He thinks about his childhood
He had a little orange digger then too
And a little orange bulldozer
And a little orange dump truck
He would digger up the chippies into the dump truck then empty the chippies into a big pile of little chippies

He was going to lay the foundations for a whole new world
A chippies world with chippies buildings
Chippies grass
And chippies parks
Libraries made of chippies
And chippies coffees and chippies handshakes
And friendships made of chippies

He put his hand in and pulled one out
A big pile of little chippies

Only the crumby bits are left now
He eats all the crumby chippies and licks his fingers which are all salty and greasy
He stands up and looks at the little orange digger
But it has gone so all he sees is himself in the window
Licking his lips
He picks up the coke bottle and chippies packet
And throws them in the bin.

1 comment:

  1. "Libraries made of chippies"

    I wanna chippies world.