Secret Squirrel’s Avoidance (plus random poem)

Someone recognised me the other day.
Somebody I went to school with, twentyish years ago.
This surprised me because I didn’t recognise him. And because he looked so old. Maybe ten years older than me. Not that I am old. I am young enough to be born in a year where The Clash, Yazoo, Bad Manners and Madness were in the music charts. That ain’t old. Is it old? Nah, I am still young. Youngish. Younger than most.
He called me by my name, my real name. I, very quickly, said my name was James. He looked confused and said sorry. My name isn’t James.
I doffed my straw boater and went on my way, relieved at avoiding a bullet from the past.
You may ask why I denied my own past. No reason really. I just don’t want to be associated with myself. If that makes any sense.
My childhood isn’t something I don’t care to remember or think about. I have spent way too many years coming to terms with it and I want to move on. I have drawn a line in the sand and then pretended that the line doesn’t exist. “What line? This isn’t my line? What is this Earth thing you call ‘a line’?”
This system (“What system? I don’t see a system. These are not the systems you are looking for”) works pretty well. The old-looking guy is the exception that proves the rule.
Perhaps I am ashamed of myself. I have a lot to be ashamed about.


Black Widow

Spinning her webs

Catching some flies.

Black Widow

Spinning her webs

Telling some lies.

Black Widow

Spinning her webs

Eating men like pies.

Black Widow

Spinning her webs

She’s love in disguise.

Black Widow

Repairing her webs

Bloated on flies.

BCHobbes 31/1/17


About greebohobbes

All-round irritant, expert swordsman (loves lopping off the heads of ghouls), professional charlatan and outrageous wearer of black cocktail dresses...
This entry was posted in avoidance, awkwardness, BekHobbes, confused, depression, estranged, existence, humanity, loss, memories, opinion, poem, poetry, questions, reallife, sorrow. Bookmark the permalink.

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