Hands in My Pockets

Inspired by a fellow-blogger’s post.

wolf-1836875_1920

‘Take your hands out of your pockets,’ she barks, pocket-like.

‘Stand up straight and don’t slouch!’

Alarmed, my hair stands up, shock-like.

Fearful, my stomach shrinks into itself and my shoulders

roll, as my eyes fall out of their sockets and bounce onto the classroom floor.

My hands become aware of themselves and, having acquired consciousness, flop;

limp and ragged, feather-duster-like, they swipe at my marbles on the floor.

The marbles, touched by the beingness of it all, roll. They roll and they see, and they roll

some more – until they score. No longer barking, she yelps – howling, wolf-like, rocking

on her haunches. Rocking and rolling – all marble-like. Rolling on, and right up to

its feather-duster swiper. My fingers, now strengthened by the wisdom of leathery

knowledge, pick up a marble, old, and a marble, new, popping them, fizzy-like, into

my sockets. Seeing it all, I right myself, standing up, straight and tall –

all smug-like!

 

Copyright owned by Jay Cool, April 2018

 

Image by Jonny Lindner from Pixabay

2 Comments Add yours

    1. The Silly-Savvy Salopian says:

      Thank you! Like your son, I was once told to take my hands out of my pockets. But in my case, I was the teacher, being told off by the headteacher! Also, my son has ASD, so your post resonated with me on two levels! Thanks for the inspiration!

      Like

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