Classic Poem

I’m a big noise in the wheel world, truly,
and go around making choices an issue
so people can while away time considering
how much there is of it: what they no longer
care for would fill a small chook raffle
hobbyist with expertise – it’s that sort of
black-and-white world, so I’m told. The
girls around here are bewigged and
big-bottomed, but I’ve prolonged
so many missed opportunities
that I’ve already forgotten about
the insistent homily I am these days
on how to avoid what I’d do
given a similar quote and
budget – I’d put the boot in,
but I’m not you, unless, of course,
looked at through your eyes, in which case
what goes rolling skyward’s the attention
span deficit we’re both intent on
totting up. The boys, however, are spokes-
people and sounds that suggest solutions:
I’ve been bludgeoned at many a front door
by attendant ghosts bearing consolation
prizes – these ‘things’ we
put here and there in our homes
like, I dunno, hair products, are often
the foul precursors to this – and much
indecision’s been spent on my footware,
the same that treads warily round the
worst of my mistakes. But in
this one, I’m away someplace, ridding
myself of shades of grey, haunting
some colourist’s nightmare.