You see it all the time in towns like this,
the office workers flying from front doors,
the swinging motion of their briefcases,

the caught air makes their winter coats billow.
And though this one seemed in a rush he still
crouched down to snatch a stray wrapper which showed

him to be a fine citizen as well.
It gave us both a twinge of civic pride
to see this noble happening until

he jumped right out into the busy road
to grab another flapping shred of trash
and carried on after he’d dumped his load

into the bus stop bins, we had to watch,
to play the amateur psychiatrist,
his ritualistic, OCD hopscotch

so unlike our insular neuroses,
each case study lined up on the platform
at Herne Hill station, checking little screens,

the constant urge to know who that beep came from.


1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. peter litton
    Jan 13, 2012 @ 00:57:29

    I like this type of poetry, it is the best type of poetry.
    You witness an event on the street.
    It lodges in your imagination.
    You write it down and extract every ounce of meaning.

    Tell em at the poetry school this is the best way to write poetry.


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