This short prose poem is derived from difficulties that I had at school and certain bullies, It is accompanied by what I hope is a Haiku on the matter.
School ties tied in any number of odd ways despite being regulation width and colour and stripe they all look so different somehow. Some are tied short some overly long some friendless not tied round a neck in any way. Mine, clean, almost anyway, starts off neat, just touching trouser top till in the playground if not on the crowded, stale, stifling bus some half-witted buffoon decided to lop most of it off. New day, yet another new tie what adventure will this morning sway. Should such a thing be consigned to a hidden history, for many a reason it doesn’t, it won’t and a curious counter obsession grows into a wardrobe stuffed, if not overstuffed with things of the perverse and diverse in colour, pattern, patina and pronouncement. Things that should never see the light of day, fortunately, remaining inanimate, they don’t – do they?
Tie knotted neatly
soon parted in violence
a bully brokered obsession