the holy trinity, the rule of thirds
a magic number
The boys squat, face forward, together
but they look in different directions
One left, one right, and the third, straight down.
Two older gentlemen, only their feet visible behind the boys, share a smoke and lean on their motorbikes
being the fourth and fifth in this scene, they’re irrelevant.
This one is about the young.
Batman, the vigilante, ready to take arms, defend his brothers, fight for justice. Towel over shoulder, wide brim shadowing, bare knees hovering over sandals, eyebrows raised, at attention
heads up, boys
Ting, he’s all glue, calm reserve. Prepared for what’s to come and confident in his plan. He rests, elbows atop knees. Checkered mask secured to his ear and readied under his chin. The centre of attention, he radiates out. There’s a plan, and intent, and purpose, with Ting.
He knows he’s cool.
Well, now, Sport.
He’s the wild card. Offering the best protection and the greatest warmth. Head bowed, but he’s not broken. He picks at his nail idly, hood enveloping his thoughts, just heating up for the next act. He’s the source of comfort. And comic relief.
make me laugh, Sport
The boys squat, facing forward, together
But they look in different directions
As I take in this three,
I realize that there was a time
when I knew what they know
when I saw what they see
I slow down
take a breath,
and try to decide whose gaze I should follow