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I see you walking in your loping gait along the street. Your black school shoes are scuffed and your trousers too long.

I wonder why your mother doesn't hem them for you. Maybe your mother is not even around or maybe she is and she is at home trying to roll herself out of bed and shake off hangover that dogging her again today. Or is your mother a high flying corporate that doesn't have time for children? I think possibly no, that mother would care about your appearance, wouldn't she?

Your hair is long and falls in a floppy waterfall over the side of your face. Did you know I noticed that your eyelashes are so long and today I noticed that they are hiding deep blue eyes.

I know your mouth moves and don’t stop the whole length of the street. I hear your little chants to yourself as I move past you, every day I try to hear what you are saying, every day I try to encourage you to look up and smile but you’re not interested in me, just your feet.

I wonder how you cope on the train, do you stand or sit? Do your fellow commuters look at you sideways or are they too busy with their phones and iPad’s? Does anyone else notice that you are missing a button on your blue school shirt today? I imagine you stand with your back to the wall; it’s safer that way isn't it? You can see the entire carriage and it allows you to watch everyone from under your lashes.

Does your father know that you are on the cusp of manhood? Does he know that you are sprouting a few hairs on your chin? I wonder if you get to see your dad every day, does he ask you how your day was, does he ask you about the poetry in your head or the songs you might singing in your heart, you see I don't think your mumbling or chanting silly rhymes to yourself.

Did you get lunch today? What was it? I reckon you had a Vegemite sandwich on white bread, I bet you didn't even cut the sandwich did you? Just slapped some cling wrap around it and shoved it into your school bag to jostle with your books and pencils.Will the other kids at your school look at you with scorn or pity in their eyes when you again sit in the furthest corner of the school ground and move and round your lips over your familiar little chants.

Do you write your ramblings down? Do you keep an old school book with your jotted thoughts? I bet you hide under your mattress in your bedroom. I imagine you at night, locked away in your little bedroom, I bet it’s at the front of the house isn't it where you can overlook the street? I reckon you would see all sorts of things in this neighbourhood, I bet that those happenings in your street give you inspiration for your words. I imagine you scratching away with a HB pencil making words, making doodles of eyes. You would have a small metal lamp in your room over your desk piled high with text books and the occasional mouldy Vegemite sandwich you didn't eat at school.

When you sleep at night, I wonder about your dreams, do you see yourself a rock star? Playing to large stadiums with lights blinding your eyes, thousands of girls screaming your name;will you strut the stage in denim and leather belting out your rambling lyrics in a raspy voice, with your waterfall hair falling in your eyes? Maybe you dream of adventure, away from city lights, just you and the world,a passport in your back pocket, a pencil behind your ear and backpack on your back.

I know who you are Luca. You finally put your head up and look directly at me as I passed by today, your lips aren't moving with a chant but you are smiling.

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