Fulham Street, 1960
Spastic, spastic - how do you ignore them and their cat-calls, my bow-bent boy as those invisible strings pluck back your head and arms?
You are splayed across pavements while the satchel hangs straight as a plumb past horseshoe vertebrae.
Somehow your hips and shoulders pivot you to school but what strong magnet pulls and guides you there my darling, my lovely?
Surely, with twisted head and lolling eyes, you see only the swirling birds and clouds for geography.