Watching from a distance. I am watching from a distance.

Fat and fleshy; again I run my soft, perfectly manicured fingers
Over the silk smooth skin of the taut bulging fruit
Nestling in my pocket.

Watching from a distance; waiting for my moment.

Royally waving her white gloved hands, the Carnival Queen is perfect.
Slim, straight backed, serene and smiling,
Through bobbing heads, I catch a glimpse of her,
Gracefully perched,
Ankles crossed,
On the golden, chenille cushioned throne.

Still watching from a distance; biding my time, yet poised and alert.

A minute later and I am becoming restless.
My fingers are itching, twitching.
I see the garlands, red, gold, silver, blue, fluttering high on the approaching float.
Her attendants are smiling, the crowd is cheering, flags waving, musicians playing, Trumpets calling, children dancing, colours exploding, whistles blowing,
Voices singing, street overflowing…

Eager now, I am rehearsed and ready.

In the blink of a perfectly eye-linered eye
I will wipe the smirk from her face.
Knock that royal blue and ruby jewelled crown from her head;
Dull that shiny hair spoil those bouncing curls; that velvet robe; white layered dress. Taint dainty shoes on dainty feet.
Make her a laughing stock.
I will! I will!
Just watch me!

Now I’m not watching from a distance, nor waiting for my moment.
My moment is here.
I’m poised, alert, and practised.
Very practised.
Slithering my hand into the depths of my overcoat pocket
I curl keen fingers around father’s prize tomato and,
In the bat of an eyelid
Sharp shooting, ace aiming
I launch it towards my sister’s oh! so pretty face!

I should have been the Carnival Queen, not her!