The PuShEr

A fuzzy formation of fleecy wool and hooves tread through the yielding green grass, one sheep follows the next sheep directed by instinct and solidarity of the pack.

They move without the rushing compulsion of humans; synchronised in their slowness.

A dart of black pierces through the formation ; the animal hive breaks and swells, one sheep follows the next sheep  running fast now,  following nervously.

 Barks mix with bleats it’s the dog that directs these sheep. 

Everyone knows a pusher.

The pusher is that enigmatic new friend that pushes towards a friendship status un earnt, They think nothing of expecting to borrow our favourite things, they slip chubby damp fingers into our favourite rings.

The pusher shares life with us; they give away nothing for free.

In return do this for me......

Stand still and watch the pusher, 

retreat to your social observatory, watch as they scavenge their way up the social chain.

They long to be notorious.

Its 6am..... a rain of tiredness beats down you ; the chemical thrills of the night wash away.

You’re satisfied sated, coming down from techno.

“What are we doing next then?” chirps the pusher, as inconsiderate and unbreakable as a dawn chorus of tiny birds .

You lay slumped and mute, pressed down into the sticky plastic seat; it’s coated in Gin and the late night sin of the raver, and its way past last orders.

The pusher doesn’t read the signs; the obvious message you want to end your night here.

They push on, 

“I know you won’t disappoint me “

Manipulative the pusher plays the strings of your consciousness and strikes a discordant sound.

 “Are you coming I know you want to”

It’s your first pay day of a salaried job; you watch the numerals land into your account with a shallow joy; what can I splash it on.

“I wouldn’t normally ask unless I knew you had it”

 starts the pusher “but I really need it and it would be so kind if you could help”.

The instinctive indignant suspicion you are used to feeling when forced into moral corners is sedated by the hypnotic self confidence of the pusher.

 To those that dare ask out in the open.

You transfer a lot of what you earnt, its an expensive lesson learnt.

Distance follows your gesture of kindness;the pusher travels on.

 Driven forward with your help.

Sense and regret shall visit you before the pusher “Mr Cratchett".

You lay your head against the cool porcelain cover of a pissed soaked bowl, retching up that final drink, the sip you never wanted.

Monday. You turn in at work stupefied by someone else’s spell.

“The pusher made me do it”

The pusher gets you on side by encouraging rampant self indulgence.

Romanticising your friendship, you eat with then sleep next to them and accept tender gestures of nothing.

You hate them, you need them and one day you grow up.