Man With Bread
The face of labour on the street
Some days, bread warm from the oven makes it easier to forget I’ve nothing else to eat. But not today. Not after being told to wait while the baker’s wife helped those women in expensive coats who were in a hurry to choose pastries for their tea, as if making a fuss is the same as working hard. I could feel them looking down their noses at my boots and overalls, noticing how dirty they were, which is true this close to the weekend. Probably reckoned I smell bad, too. I could tell from their faces they were asking themselves how someone like me has the brass neck to use the same bakery they do and wondering if they should haggle a discount or threaten to take their custom somewhere else. When I see myself the way people like them see me, grubby from work and needing the shave I can’t have before I go on shift because there’s no hot water till the fire’s alight and I leave home too early for that, it rubs in how hard it is for people who don’t have money to keep their self-respect.
It’s every day and all of life
This’ll sound ridiculous, it does to me really, but what hurt most wasn’t queue-jumpers making me wait – I know how hard the baker and his missus work, how they need their better-off customers more than the likes of me – it was seeing those women stare at the safety pin I use when it’s cold to keep my jacket closed where there isn’t a button. People like that, they can’t imagine not having the proper clothes for every kind of weather. How did I deal with it? The best way I could. I had enough money for a bread roll, so I jingled the coins as if I had a pocketful while they stood pointing like greedy kids at what they’d decided to buy and I looked straight through them. Not much else I could do, was there? No point mouthing off, it would’ve ended up turning nasty. Anyway, my break’s only half an hour and working outside all day, I needed a piss more than a row, so I let it go. You have to, don’t you? You just have to.
People become what they become
• Ken Head's poetry weblog is at www.listeningforlight.blogspot.com and he'll appreciate your dropping in to browse and maybe leave a comment if you're passing.
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Thursday, May 29
Short fiction/haibun by Ken Head
by
Charles Christian
on Thu 29 May 2008 06:53 PM BST
Sunday, May 25
Wednesday, May 14
New haibun by Tish Davis
by
Charles Christian
on Wed 14 May 2008 03:53 PM BST
Brother of the Sea
Lake Erie – blue water and sky become one. I sit in the sand not far from the place along the channel where my father and I used to fish. The beach is smaller now, cluttered with garbage cans and signs. The driftwood too, scattered along the edge, entangled with leaves and plastic bottles. The gulls return again and again to the edge of the pier as they did when we cast our lines. My father would tell the same story every time I was bored. The Iroquois, a confederation of five nations – Seneca, Cayuga, Onodaga, Oneida, Mohawk – defeat the Eries… I remember our bobbers rocking back and forth in these waters – the only legacy that bears their name. receding tide another feather stranded • Tish Davis lives and writes in Ohio and is a regular contributor to IS&T Friday, May 2
A haibun for the holiday weekend
by
Charles Christian
on Fri 02 May 2008 01:16 PM BST
Spring is in the air, there is a holiday weekend in the UK and it's time to relax – so here is a new haibun by regular IS&T contributor Mike Montreuil...
WEEKDAY PICNIC Its one of those picture perfect days. You arrive with your girlfriend and easily find a parking spot away from the sun. You smile at each other, as a chickadee announces his claim to a place he will not share with another, and laugh when a sparrow decides to fly through. mid-day sun – slowly eaten sandwiches harden in the heat A light breeze blows her hair onto her cheek. You attempt to calmly place the strands behind her ear, but the urge to nibble her lobe takes over. She smiles again and takes your hand. Warmth radiates from hers to yours. Everything is perfect. The world is at peace. a jet takes off towards the north – a warm silence broken Lunch over, you take her hand once more and begin the walk you have promised each other. Trees are in bloom and a multitude of flowers hang from their branches. Life has begun in this city park. Even the crows have begun their nest building. along the path an open condom pack our stifled laughs This afternoon will not end, you tell each other. But the increase in automobile traffic tells you otherwise. Soon, the realities of family life will take over and the day will turn to dinner and the homework that needs to be done. rush hour traffic – an eighteen-wheeler blocks the way home |
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