Knackered, exhumed, drawn-out, mesmerised … H & M tempts, siphoning up the remnants of me through a straw hat, bidding me with flesh-striped leggings, to sport my way over, fly over the stationary traffic, to zone out the time-wasters, to make mockery of the drivers queuing for home. I take off … upContinue reading “Exhumed”
Tag Archives: Essex
Choice
Early, I shuffle into the soul- less bus-stop gathering, and am held upright and inanimate by buggies, walking sticks and re-usable bags made fat with High Street consumables, as I make my choice – Number 48 or Number 548? Twenty minutes or forty? Costa coffee won’t wait for a 48. Hudson’s rosé can make itContinue reading “Choice”
‘Bus Wanker!’
Car slows, clatters on by, caterpillar pace, clash of context. “Bus Wanker!” shouts a spot, a spot in a passenger seat, a spot, that spreads outwards until it merges at one – with other spots. A carful of pink youths, blurred, hazy … Making a smudge in my notebook of poems. Copyright owned by JayContinue reading “‘Bus Wanker!’”
Bus Games
Silk-black skin and long neck. Graceful, she glances away, longs for another place, beyond the burning red-hot glass of a red bus, double-deckered, on a roasted trip with a man, unshaven and unpruned, pale and raw, who mutters to her out-turned cheek, as if she can hear his stabbing red-hot words, his obscenities his tauntsContinue reading “Bus Games”
Fag-Stop Killer
Bus stop pick up? Driver-change? Brake? Stop. Break. Driver desperate, desires to kill – ten minutes, just ten minutes of our time. Spluttering stop; bus cranks out in lullaby lay-by. Engine gasps, grumbles, grizzles, groans; passengers fidget and fudge – ferocious and desperate to kill. Driver’s all chewed-up, choking, croaking – “Just ten minutes!” HoldingContinue reading “Fag-Stop Killer”
Refuel
Cumin, chilli, coriander, turmeric – combined, create turmoil in my head … Confused, dizzy and disorientated, I resist further intoxication, hold my breath, ignore the rumbling pleas from the labyrinth within and stumble onwards to Head Street to the 754, that waits patiently for today’s meal, an undernourished battery hen, past its best, unable toContinue reading “Refuel”
Not Now
Two and a half hours, I’ve had to wait. Two and a half hours, I’ve been standing waiting here at this bus stop stuck desperate. See this hand here, my hand. See the hole here, in the middle. A knife hole. Last night. Last night I stopped a fight. Grabbed the knife. See, the hole,Continue reading “Not Now”
High Street Millionaire
Wrap me in; keep the gap closed. This is my space, on the pavement, in the High Street, by the window. My space. Pirate flag. Plastic cutlass. Open book. Marking my page, and my space … next to and part of McDonald’s. A multi-millionaire. A McDonald’s man, with a little bit of pavement – toContinue reading “High Street Millionaire”
The Silly-Savvy Salopian in Suffolk: read, believe and write ... 