Growing Tree

by Ian D. Smith


Each day he does this:
As the train arrives
He runs to be
By his favourite door,
And stands in the way
So that when the passengers pour
Out he’s buffeted,
And has words with anyone
Whose briefcase should hit his knee.

Each day he does this to get
The first available seat.
In the queue at the newsagent
He’s complaining. At the taxi ranks,
The pelican crossing, the bike racks,
He seems to enjoy
Meeting trouble halfway,
And speaks his mind
And has his say,
And once I even saw him
Argue with a growing tree.


Copyright © 2006 by Ian D. Smith

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