It sat there – fair in the way of an old bloke,
waiting, patiently, to give him a nasty poke.
Its rocking legs striking out past the point
where normal chairs couldn’t hit his joints
A measly look on its solid gated back
often caused him to halt in his track.
Sitting, innocently, ready for use one could suppose,
despite his knowledge that, to him, bruising goes.
No greater hazard in his home than that ‘gator
Clear of look, brow and form like any traitor.
By Jonathan Hawkins-Clarke copyright 16/9/2016
Author’s Note: RRRs exercise to write about a rocking chair