OJ

Oscar Percy Byron Jones, caretaker at the local comp
is raking leaves - with a certain pomp.
The patch on his tailored overalls’ chest
reads ‘O’ - you have to guess the rest.
His lips are moving, his eyes are vacant;
and we make up stories – he’s a mental patient,
a former professor, an Oxbridge don,
a paedophile from Bushey Spon.
Truth to tell he’s none of these
- and under the moulting, autumn trees -
within kicking distance of the rugby posts
just summoning up his private ghosts.
Listen! Almost unbelievably,
he’s mouthing lyric poetry.