Osindo the driver

 The driver Osindo
Sharpening himself on the steering wheel
On the curves of the road

Not getting any sleeker
tear ducts faulty
Saw the lost brother

Couldn't comprehend him
couldn't tell his own faults
defence is lashing out

for the child for the elderly
For the quiet self righteous
boiling over like volcanoes

He was the driver
his gloves and glasses shaped him
He saw himself a private eye

Not getting even quicker
Just dragging the cigarette
His pair and the lost brother

Sharpening his fingers
by polishing the car
He wanted sparkle in himself