The Recluse and the Fictional Lead Ballon

a bit weird - just a passge on how people are never what they make out to be

He lives alone

We have to find an excuse for the recluse.

 

Its summer, the neighbour’s tremor the evening air

Professional couples with pink wine

He’s watching,

They fade into drunkenness

Smoking at his bedroom window

Stillness again and the back lights click

 

Dismissed as weird

They hush their voices

One woman has more to say than she should

His life is unknown

His reasons are his own

So he imagines what he’d say.

Comment on his neighbours wife’s tan   

With a casual wink, he knows what’s hidden in the garage

The foster couple in tears with the reason why the boy doesn’t talk

Bring science to their scepticism

He imagines his lead balloon

Falling on their heads

He envisions his little triumph

Falling asleep on his head

 

He knows how it feels to be drunk

To wonder through the night

The statue of his parable

The status of an online fable

Drinking till sunburnt

Drinking till it doesn’t hurt

His bottle cracks.

 

He lives as a recluse

He finds an excuse to be alone.