Baffling As A Blanket

Baffling As A Blanket

He was less than a hundred, at least.
Could have been a baker, a train driver
or a priest.
He had a way of breathing through his nose.
He wore two shoes,
and quite irregular clothes.
He seemed quite fascinated
by his newspaper,
reading from left to right,
the journalistic prose.
Then he got off the train,
and was never seen again.

It is remarkable, the people that you meet.
Some of them baffling as a blanket
that pretends to be a sheet.

She sat on a bench in an open air public park
with the collar and lead for her dog in her hand.
The dog was barking at a bird
who sat safely half way up a large plant
that resembled a sprouted tree.
A passer by told her to keep her dog quiet.
“It is not mine,” she told him.
“It belongs to a neighbour.”
“That is no excuse,” said the passer by,
who could have been an ex-military man
or an enthusiast for model trains.
“Oh, well,” said the woman.
“It might stop yelping when it rains.”
The man stalked off in a huff.
The woman shook her head,
and thought: “They were right.
When you get older,
life is more likely to upset,
as the seas of waves rise more rough.”

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