W.M. Tidmarsh
Making Out
I saw him do it, though not how he did it;
Just stroked the car, was in and out in a minute,
Closed the door gently and sauntered down the row
Shoulders up, head down, all heel and toe,
Casual as a cat and as alert.
It barely made a bulge beneath his shirt.
I know his mother, might know his old man.
Used to watch him when he first began
Trying that walk out down this very street;
Figured even then that he’d be neat.
They don’t put rubbish into Scorpios
But he’ll only get a fiver unless, who knows,
He’s already got a customer: even then
He may have problems, seeing he’s only ten.
Page(s) 46
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