Canto CL

I’ve heard some horror stories from travellers
that there are several cities round the world
where you can tell a tale and have a laugh

with your fellow commuters and that all
the subway cars and creaking buses
are moving hubs for conversational

exchanges and some open heart confessions.
Fuck that for a sack of monkey bollocks,
I like the frowning home bound mob of London,

all holed up in the pyche’s concrete barracks,
this is our sole refuge for contemplation
between the verbose poles of home and work,

a secular chapel, station to station,
not looked upon by Saints, wandering eyes meet
the clinic adverts for boob operations

and now and then, a smattering of Keats.

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1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. peter litton
    Jan 28, 2012 @ 11:55:39

    Oh yes!
    Another transport poem. If I were to pick my favourite poems from this series, I bet they’d mostly be inspired by journeys across London. You should do a book on it.

    Reply

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