He arrived, a long washed sailor,
over the rolling sea, making home
because he likes what he sees;
the waist nipped flouncers in sky
high heels, he brings them sunshine,
in the grey northern streets, freestyles
beats, wears flip flops with no thought
for others. He wants to fit in though,
with winkle-pickers and pool cue crowds,
not with grim suited pen-pushers.
Under his feet, colours splatter the pavement,
smiles spread silently across his face,
he hears old ladies whisper, scandalised,
then turn silently away;
he wears the world well.
Ali Jones is a teacher and mother of three. Her work has appeared in Fire, Poetry Rivals, Strange Poetry, Ink Sweat and Tears, Snakeskin Poetry, Atrium, Mother’s Milk Books, Breastfeeding Matters, Breastfeeding Today and Green Parent magazine. She has also written for The Guardian.
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