Kinked in broad daylight

I’m developing a kink for
Thin old men in grey cardigans 
Who lean on country fences
And watch the wind.

Not the gaunt of ill mind or waning body.
Not the narrow of a too-small mouth and a too-big religion.
But the shape of someone easily distracted
By words, or birds, or maps, or pebbles.

I smile into my kink of sunlit comfort
As I pass their ripe garden and orderly shed. 
But it’s only a moment, this cardigan fancy.

For I doubt they’d take to
My frockcoats, and stars,
And spiders on Mars.

Image credit: NASA: Jamming with the ‘spiders’ from Mars

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