Handy Andrew (a poem)

Handy Andrew (a poem)

He calls me Dave,
my friend
who travels from B
to B and back
for money
he wastes
on donated teas
but not on charity.

He waves at me
as he drives
to cart us around
on council time,
checking keys
are still igniting
but ignoring
other vehicles waiting.

He nudges me
when he jokes
to relate
and repeat
my every action,
agreeing
after my word
has been given.

He calls me
as often
as the phone allows,
repeating
emails he wrote
minutes prior
with his stutter
and stumbling words.

He knows me
along with many
others that abuse
his usefulness
and nerves,
except
his contacts
improve our results.

He wants me
to run with him
with his part-shaven
appearance,
poor timing,
needy requests,
constant mess
and thorough route planning.


David A. Church

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