I didn’t watch you for long,
I cycled off at the lights.

for a moment I saw you walk
from just outside Nando’s to

the other side of the road by
the traffic light, not quite

on the crossing. carrying
a paper bag of greasy kebab

and limping. wiping hands on
those creasy trouser legs and

limping. limping. limping. not
a new limp, you’ve had that

forever. not a just-fell-over
limp. not a sprained-my-ankle

limp. you were born like that,
weren’t you? one leg longer by

an inch. or maybe one foot
an elephant’s swollen stump.

ankle bent inwards at the
bone, grown like a golf club.

you drag it behind but always
keep it close. it is yours after all.

I didn’t watch you for long,
I cycled off at the lights.

WHHHHHEEEEEEEE!!!
Look at my brilliant legs!