dear boys who stare at us in gym class-

I have no idea what you're thinking

you could either be impressed

by our relative enthusiasm

or mocking us

for our comparative weakness

if it is the latter, as if you're much better

if the former, don't be sexist pigs

you could either be checking us out

or be wondering where

our asses disappeared to

in our sweat pants

if the latter, go stare at the girls in yoga pants and leave us alone

if the former, there are better places than gyms and better girls who won't gorge out your eyes with a spork

you could either be zoning out

absorbed in the lovely music

or obsessed with us

either way you're creepy

sincerely,

the chicks you keep staring at for no reason

ps. if you make one more sexist comment I'm going to burn you alive and do squats with your dead body on my shoulders

Roger the gardener maintains the grounds that surround my place of work, it's a total area of approximately 5 or 6 square acres.

It consists of lawned areas and flower beds surrounded by hilly woodland.

I'm not too sure about gardeners. By that I mean they are all perfectly pleasant chatty people, but they're not playing with a full deck, if you see what I mean.

Most people who have never tended a garden in their lives head indoors at the first sign of precipitation, but gardeners simply plough onwards regardless of climatic change. Roger is such a person.

When he isn't tending to his routine he is talkative, pleasant and quite an amiable man, a proper good egg.

Give him a hoe however and he's off into the mysterious world only he and his fellow gardeners are aware of. He will happily get soaked yet still manage a cheery smile and a wave at me as I peer from behind a window at him, looking for all the world like he has just been fired from a cannon into a hectare of nettles.

He is a trooper, a stalwart and he proudly and steadfastly maintains his areas in pristine condition.

But, if I approach him and mention in an offhand way that his beds are looking fantastic, he always seems to know the Latin name of every plant no matter how obscure it is.

That's when his eyes glaze over and I then am aware that a garden tale is about to follow, so I head off to the relative safety of the hotel kitchen, as his eyes follow me, hoping I might turn about and hear the rest of his story.

To this man I see every day

I stare at you all the time. I know you're name , and some of your story . I know your wife , and she doesn't say much about you, she always gets upset when I ask, and says she'd rather not talk about it. I respect that, because I see how sad she is. I also get sad , because you are my dad. Your wife is my mom. And I can only see you in a picture. The one you gave to my mom the day you had to leave . It was a picture of you and mom , and you said you'd be back soon. But war doesn't car about family's , for it took you away from me . I never got to meet you, but I know you would be great, I just wish I got to know you, and let you know that I love you. I always get to see you, but it's only in a picture.