The Native

 A tall skinny guy
wearing clothes no woman would be seen near him in,
with a mustache no woman would burrow through
starts hovering around my work area.
Flicking through papers and folders.
I'd tell him to fuck off, but I know who he is.
A bigger cock than me, earns four times what I do
and his only friends are acquaintances
who cringe as he comes bungling
onto the golf-course.

I'm working away, one headphone in
one ear on the machines.
He walks up to me with two colleagues
and a folder in his hand,
a fucking huge mitt.
He begins asking questions,
pointing at the folder, more questions.
His fist gently pounds the folder;
driving home the message.
Massive round fist;
can't make a square
because his fingers don't fit.

I interrupt his power-streak
"Warum ist dein hand so gross,
und dein arm so klein?" I ask.
His colleagues, gathered behind him,
smirk discreetly.
He stops, just stares down at me
through his glasses without any glint
of humour, humanity.

He finishes quickly and walks off
as I get one last look at his hand
then reflect on my own fist.

I finish work, the rain's trying to break things.
My boss is stood
in the back of a lorry outside the door.
I shout, "Schönes wetter, na?"
Then I cock my head up, stick my tongue out
to taste the rain.
He looks at me confused,
"Fantastisch." He shouts.

I walk through the rain
as the man with big hands and shiny wheels
flies past me;
tires parting the rain
and gnawing at the road.

I get home and the dogs are all over me
knowing it's time for another smell of the world.
A baby smiles when he sees my face, and there's a woman
with a kiss.

I forgot about the handman
'til I walk past him the next day at work.
I smile, "Morgen."
He glowers and ignores me.

I walk past the next guy, "Morgen."
He smiles, "Morgen."








*
"Warum ist dein hand so gross,
und dein arm so klein?"
Translates to:
Why is your hand so big,
and your arm so small?

"Schönes wetter, na?"
Translates to:
Nice weather, eh?

Morgen: Morning.