Sonata 9

Out on the streets today
a little boy with his toy plane crossed my way.

It reminded me to write this down
in my list of things - to - do.
It reminded me when you were cycling home the other night
and that bi-plane was chasing you.

I saw three boys walking with matched steps.
It was getting dark
the eldest must've been eight
the other two, six or seven.

Their knickers were dirty
not from a game of ball.
Dirty, from days of drape.
Their smiles were fresh,
oven fresh.

(Reminded me to ask myself
when was the last time I smiled oven fresh smiles. )

The eldest, tallest one walked in the middle.
His hands rested on the soft malleable shoulders of his mates,
the junior lambs.
They must've been walking home.


I stopped,
still staring at them.
Walked up and asked them
if they knew where shop no. 88 was.
Excited on being asked an important question,
they pranced in three different directions each.
The fourth one was left for me to fill in.

I was guided to a half lit tea shop
with blue faded walls
and yesteryear's red tarpaulin as a facade.
The old kaka looked up
pots of tea boiled
with day old tea leaves, brewing
like faded stars on the stage.

He pointed to the left
and after four minutes
told me to ask the person
sitting on the horizon.
The boys led me again.

I was a lot ping pong ball
bouncing in a narrow alley.
And they
were three flies.

They asked me more questions dressed in importance.
I answered nonchalantly, importantly.
The man on the horizon was a cobbler.
He looked at my shoes
I looked at his hands
leathery.
Brown,
tan,
golden,
ecru.



(to be continued)