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Your Own
Personal Nutcase
Which of Cardiff’s
various nutcases
Has won you over with their unique brand of madness?
Of all the city’s nutjobs,
Which have you taken a shine to,
Or taken to your heart?
Which suffering fool
Have you been heard to say of
“So and so is alright, really?”
Could it be Ninjah, the ranting Rastafarian,
Currently wearing his hair in blonde bunches,
Known for his bin-banging and whacked-out wisdom?
Perhaps shakey-hand man, whose name,
Somewhere along the line, you may have learned,
Has forced his piteous figure upon you
With such regularity that you’ll always give up your change?
Has plastic-mic preacher man, the Christian crooner,
Not making much of an effort by way of collecting,
But with his own spot on Queen Street, sometimes
Made you stop and think “perhaps he’s right?” –
After all, he’s so convinced himself.
Maybe the mad marketing woman,
The increasingly eccentric salesman,
Or the bug-eyed Big Issue seller,
Each of whom has grappled for your attention,
As if stopping you randomly in the street was the norm,
Has inexplicably, one day, made your day?
Is it me? Or one or other of Cardiff’s
Various schizophrenic manic depressives,
Or inconsistent nutcases, for the most part
Relatively normal, but perhaps a few times
A decade will show their darker natures,
Reveal a side you didn’t want to know,
Or perhaps, in fact, you did?
Or is it yourself, in your questioning phase,
When all the world around you seems mad,
When in fact, truth is, it’s just you losing the plot,
But you relish being in this state,
Take comfort in the fact that, as they say,
If Jesus was around today, he’d be locked up in the loony bin.
This statement itself is a comfort.
What is normal?
This statement itself is a comfort.
Madness is just another state of mind.
This statement itself is a comfort.
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