A man comes up to me
on Richmond bridge
shouting
'you're too up tight mate...
get a life! '
I have a life I think
,
and swerve
in style
with assurance in my stride.
He's young and drunk
and craves
to be
a bit of me.
Poor chap's a mess,
he's bound to banter
Razzmatazz.
He rants
at random passers-by
with fortune-cookie lies
and anger as his guide.
They too
like me
swerve
and smile
In deft disguise.
I stop,
up tight as always,
and fester for a while.
There I am,
Anal,
Hypocrite,
Jester
to their lies.
Up tight
he's right
and with a life
not mine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem