Why did you set yourself the task of pushing the rock up the slope I asked.
He turned to look at me and released his grasp. The stone slid on the grass, picked up speed and sped past.
He frowned and blinked fast and set off down the hill again.
You’re not the first to ask, he said, and you won’t be the last.
broken down at the side of the road
impatience, frustrations bubble
the butterfly does not notice
silent sprung stillness
until the inevitable strike
vain struggle soon over
Sanded eyes and lips
Kid behind kidney kicking
Patience drips away
His fingers snapped – nothing – and then his patience. He settled back in the armchair and struck the match. They would be sorry.