Transparent Words - Poetry

Private school literature was awash with

themes, the satisfactory technique of setting

the scene – democratic yet retaining the soft

press of blazer against tie; a teacher

flossing worksheet questions in one ear and

out the other. I loved the denial of pecking-

order, perhaps better expressed like a delicate

column of cloud, a sprouting phenomenon,

intersecting away from the rank and file yet

strictly asexual. Those boys, or the purple-

haired poet reading Aeschylus at five - early

on, identifying key-word, superficial, the

pewter-strong china of Austen aristocracy or

the spoilt Earnshaws making Heathcliff look

like a right Samaritan – mothers reaching for a

Thesaurus, something to outdo that A+,

Excellent and impress caffeinated bagel friends

with a double word score. I enjoy the latte

protected by napkin, bluffing view of all the

cars, traffic-light exchange. Taught to know

it’s there. Granted the first sip, heat of the

moment. Noting colloquialisms now I

can’t go wrong.