Traf­fic light dilemma

Jamaica Gleaner - - ARTS & EDUCATION - – Otis May Wills

This gamin fre­quented the traf­fic lights His gait like one who thinks his weight would sink the earth With cap askew upon his head and shirt and pants, so large and loose Where, two be­side him­self could hide with ease. De­signer shoes upon his feet and tool of labour in his hand. A wet squeegie he thrust upon the wo­man’s car wind­screen be­fore the driver in dis­gust could sig­nal with her hand that such a job She could do well with­out. An out­stretched hand he thrust to her But she ig­nored its in­tent. So with a whim­per and a wail like one who can­not speak He gri­maced and screwed up his face like a squeezed up, ripe bread­fruit. Look­ing halt­ingly around Then fum­bling in his huge pocket A fraz­zled, damp and dirty rage he pulled. A grin of sat­is­fac­tion on his face ap­peared And with a light­ning stroke One swipe across her face he made “Now you tek dat” he cried. The light turned green She made a scream! Tyres screeched And off she drove

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