Billboards

"Why are billboards so large?" The boy asks.

"Because we don't remember the small things." The father replies.

"But I remember ants... they're small things, right?"

"I guess. Do you think ants remember you?"

"I'm a giant to them so they should remember." 

"You're a colossus to them son. So tall, that they won't ever grasp who, or what, you are."

"But I'm small compared to you Dad."

The father kneels to match his son's height.

"No, you're larger than all the worlds combined, but smaller than the ants you fondly remember."

The boy nods.

"I don't understand..."

"Then use your imagination, son."

The Father gets up
and they both continue standing there, 
outside Taunton train station at half two in the morning,
waiting for a train that will never come,
besides the towering billboards
deliberately within their blind-spot.

Bill Hicks springs from a bush      sets fire to the advertisements.
He pisses on the train tracks and runs away,
yelling
Shakespeare.