Bent Over Geography
When off school sick,
dad would bring me toast
before he went to work
then leave me crumbed up
in a world of dreams,
ear stuck to a transistor
as the day went on its way
beyond closed curtains
in the blind distance
of car horns and shouting
over garden fences.
I’d suck mints if boredom
and loneliness crept in
or season permitting
pop downstairs barefoot
to catch the horse racing
with an inner happiness
that pals were pushing
pens, bent over geography
or maths, just aching
for the bell’s release.
John Short lives in Merseyside after some years in Spain and Greece. He writes stories and poems and reads at venues around Liverpool. Work has appeared in magazines including Obsessed with Pipework, Ink Sweat and Tears, Frogmore Papers and Barcelona Ink.
atriumpoetry.com 