Buoying up what should only be anchored on a seabed, launching horizon thoughts from a beachy head, polishing off planks running red in gallons on bloody Mary galleons, mutinying off bilious dream decks into wavy waters off Albion; a pirate seagull takes a selfie from a cliff ledge.
Out-of-breath knee-rug centenarians in their Sunday best blowing out as many candles as possible to show who’s the eldest, sudden street-sleepers rolling out nicotine-rolled mattresses, metal-detector treasure-hunting wanderers wondering where it’s at is; a hypochondriac pigeon twigs it and drops down dead on its chest.
Shuddering scaredy-cats fidgety-pecking bread-crumbs, cry-baby pram-pushing toddlers make-believing their mums perfect perchers on rain-dropping bunting over wet pavement stones, nesty fledgling prodigies playground-beaking on xylophones; an Olympic swift breaks the all-time record at 32 metres per second.
Up-in-the-branches and away-with-the-fairies for whatever it takes. a modest million-strong division of camouflaged ambushers awakes, budget-totting scrimpers’n’savers blowing it all in one fell swoop, flashy film producing flashers put away for a long time in a chicken coop; a skylarking starling in mirror-sunglasses sweepstakes.
I hold back more words a day than I ever say. Spout off more than my fair share to people who don’t know me or care just to entertain.
I go back home, open the door and close it behind me once more. Go to my park bench with its personalized plaque in my sitting room and sit back and watch the day’s passersby once again.
The moon outside is a little empty head glowing in the dark as I go to bed with the whole world wide web as a speech-bubble with 7 billion mouths presumably in a bit of trouble to get what they think heard or get voices they hear not written off as absurd.
Just ‘cos you’re to blame doesn’t mean you’re guilty. Just ‘cos it’s not your fault doesn’t mean you’re innocent. Just ‘cos you’ve got money doesn’t mean you’re worth a penny. Just ‘cos they said it well doesn’t mean they said what they meant.
Just ‘cos you’ve got time doesn’t mean it won’t run out. Just ‘cos the fun’s over doesn’t mean you can’t have a laugh. Just ‘cos you’ve got a ticket doesn’t mean you’re a ticket tout. Just ‘cos you’ve had a life doesn’t mean you’ll have an epitaph.
Just ‘cos you’re a pirate D.J. on a sea-breeze table-turning your flat-world vinyl sea-shanties doesn’t mean a whale of a man will get any more noticed than a minnow of a bloke through a back-to-front telescope.
Just ‘cos you beg doesn’t mean you walk the streets. Just ‘cos you’ve got a good grip on things doesn’t mean you could hold a trapeze. Just ‘cos you’re on a bus doesn’t mean you have the right to a seat. Just ‘cos life is routine doesn’t mean you do it with ease.
In case you’re wondering, the chorus to this kiddies’ sing-song Is sink or swim, trick or treat, ding or dong, so sing along!; “Keep your head above water. Keep your head down. Get it right or you’ll drown.”