As I wait in line to board the 17 tram
A man barges past, followed closely by his pal
As he barges past -- it will be his last! --
The smell of piss and alcohol rubs onto my coat
As I board at last, my eyes seek out the pair,
The minor road rage of men beyond a certain age
Infects my better self and soon my eyes lock on target, a pair of seats;
There they sit, whispering, conferring about some escapade
No sooner had my eyes rested on and convicted
That hapless drunkard pair --
40, 50 years of age, stubble and greased face --
The doors open and they hop off the stairs
And are already on open urban ground
All ready for the lights to go green
So they can run with unexpected speed --
And then it hits me.
Like a painful sorrow scream
Like curtain torn in two
My eyes can suddenly see
In front of me -- literally! -- are two chubby kids
They have been friends since kindergarden
Clear as the day, and still in a way
Having the time of their lives
And then I realise:
Whatever layers of age are thrown at them
Children will always be children
It is only the pain that is of men.
