Complacent
By birksy
Sitting still in the centre of a soccer pitch, no-one else around no-more, can’t ask for a light, can’t get a back scratch, sitting still on a soccer pitch, forgot to be nice to the others. The dark sky’s arrived, and wind blows through the grass, he’s the only object to hit, so target practice is all about him, before he might have liked it, before he didn’t care. Now he’s on his own, he knows what put him there, complacency is a delicate beast, he throws the dirt for real, but there’s no-one left to hit. Written January 15th, 2002 © on Jan 14 2002 07:36 PM PST, Simon Birks 0 • 10
AI analysis available. Enable JavaScript to interact.
About this line
"Sitting still in the centre..."