Apparently deserted street with me on foot
But at a corner, coming from my left,
I met up with Jack Sparrow, also a pedestrian
Who clearly has some building work in hand.
Gripped in his beak ten metres of recording tape
Which drags behind to snag and keep him grounded.
At our confrontation, in alarm, he takes to wing.
A personal fear? More likely that I’ll grab his prize.
But half the road width has him puffed and crashed
To doggedly take up the haul again on foot
And hop off down the road that’s to my right.
The Devil bids me stand upon his plastic train.
But no! I quite admire the gutsy little fellow.
Wish that I could follow see where ‘home’ is.
How he hopes to use it. Can’t though. Running late.
Yet I can just imagine what his wife is going to say.
Her scorn. I’ll bet he never hears the end of it.