The vertical lines of the bar graph,
resembled the silhouette of a city at night,
the unequal slices of a pie chart are colored like Blackpool rock.
(…he remembers childhood summers of candy floss,
Bumper cars and helter skelters.
A faint taste of salt on his tongue,
blown in by a sea-breeze,
a cross wind
leaving him shivering like a fish
out of water.)
to pass some time:
he dreams of positions and battle lines
drawn in the sand with a broken twig,
the twig dragged across
clouds of dust,
And he watches the graphs
scatter and lines,
ratios and percentages,
just lined up like soldiers ready for war.