deepundergroundpoetry.com
Cup and Saucer from Hell
He has peculiar breath and unusual dental issues
clothes from the shabbiest charity shop
which smell like my aging mother's wardrobe
everything styled in oversize check
but he means no harm
despite an obvious honours degree
in fruitcake derangement
At the bus shelter I am his captive audience of one
this stray nutcase has chosen my total stranger's ears
to confide in
and he thinks it's perfectly OK to hold on to my arm
while he relates his life story
all his problems
all his woes
in rather too much detail for my liking
I am wrong to judge by appearances
although there is plenty of time for that
and as he gleefully points out
the buses seem worse than ever lately
There is mild concern on my part however
that he is bound to take the same bus as I do
and I have a nagging suspicion those last two seats free
will inevitably be together
After five minutes that feel like fifty
my head aches from nodding
and the muscles under my eyebrows
start to complain
they are not generally accustomed
to being raised so frequently in so short a time
I make a mental note that eyebrow tape
could be a handy accessory for future encounters
of this nature
It is raining
quite hard now actually
even so I decide to walk anyway
at least two stops should guarantee
to secure my escape
but no, he will walk with me
Yet all is not lost
I hold the smuggest ace to smirk about
there is nobody who walks as fast as I do
I am certain of this
because in the past my natural speed
has been responsible for starting wars
and at least one marital break up
To my horror
even with a limp
his fanatical desperation to unburden
keeps him apace with my stride
and I soon begin to marvel
as the telling combination of limp
and that ceaseless tongue
propel him like a surfer on verbal rocket fuel
grinning triumphantly up on the crest
those check trousers flapping loudly
flamboyant turn-ups beautifully pressed
and no doubt full of crumbs
Our bus
no longer just mine but ours
sweeps majestically by mid-stop
empty and at high speed
(they time it so well, don't they)
yet fruitie is unphased through my thin groan of despair
as inwardly I curse my Englishness
demanding politeness at all costs
post Empire
post 911
ne're a drooping lip may be shown
What's that?
He lives on my street
the big house
converted into flats
on the corner
No, I'm not acquainted
with his neighbours
Now he is offering me tea
and my pavement has become Pompei
I am staring at Vesuvius
and can only nod dumbly
While I contemplate
his impending cup and saucer
raining down from hell
to suffocate the hypnotic spell
of such an English
upbringing
Published 31st Dec 2009
| Edited 27th Mar 2016
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Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
Anonymous
31st Dec 2009 8:46pm
Very witty and insightful poem; makes me think of all the times I've had my ear chewed off by some lunatic, and how I always feign rapt attention. The Pompeii/Vesuvius metaphor was nice, and the narrative was crisp and highly readable.
Anonymous
1st Jan 2010 11:14am
like this poem a lot,i guess we all go have some shade of the same experience at some point.It flows so smoothly, nice read, with the dark vision at the end.
1st Jan 2010 12:08pm
Anonymous
1st Jan 2010 1:22pm
i guess you are right A, sometimes one's place, even one's gender becomes a cross to bear.
1st Jan 2010 1:32pm
When I get sick of Englishness I move to another country, Priya. I'm not sure if that would work for you - but gender issues where you live need to be changed and your pen is the way to do it, that's for sure.
Anonymous
1st Jan 2010 2:10pm
Thank you A for telling me that:-)
3rd Jan 2010 5:05pm
The conversational tone coming through this seems to represent the conversation between the persona and the old man, thus making it all seem so much more realistic. Reminds me of everytime I'm stuck talking to someone when I'd rather be anywhere else in the world :)
3rd Jan 2010 5:52pm
Yes, it says something about how assertive we are prepared to be, Arryn and if we always hide behind the shutters of politeness then the consequences of that may turn out worse than we expect.
