Snapshot

 

Snapshot

 

 

He was young, green, wet behind the ears,

a shaver of snapper-wood off some old block,

less colt, more foal -

a hands off cock, on socks,

turn to, look lively sort of lad

and he trembles at you

from underneath his pudding bowl.

 

Order coffee from the wagon, Pendragon,

his some kinda ham-fister barista schtick

means everything takes one extra second too long –

punches in the codes wrong,

asks you to repeat your orders

like, ‘Do you want a sub with that?’

and you’re thinking HMS Trafalgar, nuclear fission,

state the objective of the mission.

 

Here comes reason. She sidles up

from his behind – dripping experience and D cups –

smiles a this is just my summer job, love,

sports a couple of senior years, a bit of his n hers,

he’s first day nerves, butterfly balls - she’s had it all,

offers up and grinds out the right call.

 

She’ll be having some later, he knows it, you see it -

ponders all day, well, just how will it be,

will his world expand, what will it all mean?

Leaves you to retire, find shade, 'Thanks, chief,' 

suck coffee grit through ground teeth.