Elton John drove past our flat today.
He was in a blackcurrant and liquorice
purple coloured car with wing mirrors
the size of disco balls. His windows were open,
no music was playing. He started
beeping his horn at people crossing the road
but no one flinched. Elton shoved his fist
into the street and muttered something.
The eyes of pedestrians told me
it might have been aggressive or bleak
but they refused to flinch. They wanted
to see how far he’d go, how far he’d take it,
whether or not he was really there
and why he might be having a bad day.
© Carl Burkitt 2021