Noticing Stuff

                          Weeds

Weeds are species

that grow wild

and profusely

among other species,

depriving them of space and food,

taking over their habitat,

crowding them out.

They reproduce aggressively,

and can harbour and spread

pathogens or other toxins.

Some even create environmental conditions

in which they themselves cannot reproduce.

Weeds tend to proliferate in human-disturbed areas.

Some become dominant when they enter new environments

that free them from natural enemies.

Sounds like homo sapiens –

the most virulent weed species of all.

                   How It Is, In Part

Sitting in my reading-and-drinking armchair

with the front door propped open,

I watched in fascination

as a small flock of sparrows

fought pitched battles with each other,

wings flapping with furious aggression,

contesting my bird feeder’s two perches.

These weren’t dance-like play fights;

they were serious.

Now, human aggression usually disgusts me,

but I’m completely non-judgemental

about their behaviour.

They do what they do.

It’s just DNA

and pursuing survival

in a hard world.

                 I Like To Walk

I’ve always liked to walk.

Even when I was a preschooler,

I’d skive off from time to time

to escape my unhappy domestic environment,

and follow the creek

that ran a block or so from my house,

fantasising about running away from home.

Since then I’ve walked,

whether with a dog, by myself,

or – rarely – with other people,

in many different cities,

along many rural roads and tracks,

up gentle mountain slopes,

and along many beaches – I can’t stand lying in the sun.

For me the best city walks

have been in cities with alleys –

I call it alleying –

and each city’s alleys have been different,

sometimes differing from one part of a city to another.

The best thing about alleying

is how few people

and moving motor vehicles

I’ve encountered whilst doing so.

Walking enables me to experience the seasons

and the changing skies

better than I could from any vehicle,

even a bicycle,

and to notice

such microcosms

as individual leaves and pebbles and blades of grass,

and how the volume of rubbish on the ground

increases

as my dog and I

approach

the Five Crossroads McDonald’s.

  

            Boy Fights & Girl Fights

In the mid-eighties I spent a couple of years

running the school jail –

officially In-School Suspension –

at an intermediate school

in a heart-wrenchingly downmarket area.

As ISS supervisor,

I was also the staff’s

number-two heavy – after George,

the big, beefy DP –

so one of my duties

was to help keep an eye on things

before the school opened each morning.

Poor kids fight a lot,

so George and I broke up

plenty of early-morning fights.

Fights between boys

usually involved

impressive quantities of

circling about,

bobbing and weaving,

feinting jabs, wild swings hitting only air,

and shouts of,

“Hold me back or I’ll kill him!”

and when we did hold them back they let us.

Girl fights were deadly serious.

They really did seem to be

trying to kill each other,

and even with me bear-hugging one

twelve-year-old girl from behind

and George, at 115+ kilos, fairly sitting on the other

they’d still be scratching each other’s faces

and managing to pull out

handfuls of each other’s hair.

               Visceral

It struck me

as I farted whilst I was pissing

that the smell of the inside of my body

when it’s outside of it

may not be particularly pleasant,

but is absolutely real.

             Icelandic Genetics

Iceland, or so I’ve read,

has about the most

genetically homogeneous population in the world.

Of course, I’ve read a large amount of

shit

in the many years that I’ve been reading,

but as the camera panned

along the faces of Iceland’s football team

during the national anthem

prior to a match against Croatia

(which is definitely genetically heterogeneous),

it struck me that many of them

could have been brothers,

and that they all

looked like at least close cousins,

so maybe it is indeed so.

But then,

how does Björk fit into this?

                                   Butch

I can’t recall ever knowing anybody named Butch,

whether via his – or her – birth certificate

or due to some fond family nicknaming during infancy.

I imagine, though, that being called Butch

would be likely to have an effect

on a person’s character –

or even physical competencies.

For instance, would somebody named Butch

be likely to have better-than-average fine motor skills,

and be a wizard at needlepoint or lace-making?

How many people named Butch have long hair?

I mean, one of the definitions of the word itself

refers to a particular type of short, closely cropped haircut.

Do people named Butch tend to prefer

Antiques Road Show to boxing or mixed martial arts?

Do they prefer to take their exercise

by playing rugby

or by Morris Dancing?

I don’t know, as I can’t recall

ever knowing anybody named Butch.

I myself, incidentally, am basically a wuss and totally non-macho,

but in many superficial ways I’m decidedly butch,

for whatever that’s worth.

I did know somebody, though, whose family called him Bunkie.

He was a flaming asshole.

Ended up with a career in the Army,

or so I heard.

           Think I’ll Read A Book

I turned the TV on.

As it came up

a Kiwi woman,

talking to another Kiwi woman,

said that Justin Bieber’s favourite food

is spaghetti and meatballs.

I turned the TV off.

                        Higher Education

When I was a uni lecturer it struck me and disgusted me

that most second-year students considered my courses

to be a game, the point of which was

to see how little they could learn

and how few academic and cognitive skills

they could acquire and improve

and still pass.

Many didn’t.

I wondered why they were there in the first place,

running up huge student-loan debts

for bugger-all in return.

Was it arrogance? Overconfidence? Privilege?

Or just stupidity?

                    Talent

I learnt long ago,

although not early enough,

that just because someone

can play a guitar or a piano passably,

and perhaps sing well enough

for others to tolerate or even enjoy it,

having such talent

fails to make that person automatically

not a nauseating shit.