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A STATION FAR

April 7, 2018

Blame it on street sweepers,

It’s strange how it grows and grows,

A famous café, so they say,

I heard the name, at a station far,

My preference would be a café,

Any café, renowned or other,

On the way to the way out,

But not quite: we’ll stop half way.

 

Would she do me the same favour?

It appears that the answer is no,

She does many a favour, and has many a man,

Or so she says, and like I care,

I am above all that, like a certain Adolf,

She now knows that she bores,

Yes, yes: his work was always nothing,

Don’t be awed by the stylised prose and words,

We need more than this. I’d be happy to know,

For you to never know …. I got you that job,

You’ve forgot, but no harm’s done,

Though I shan’t forget: you are Judas.

 

She needed the work. She had a reputation,

I also. One side of a town to another,

All on foot; stopping half way, as is known,

I won’t wear your badge of the Jew,

I need her, so I’ll contact another,

The two are close: I need her embrace,

Again and again, we’ll embrace,

Tell it to the world; the world won’t listen,

Stolen, I know, but it rolled off the tongue so well,

Lines …. They’re getting longer and longer …. I hear music ….

 

I hear music, source unknown,

No: I know well, and she’s a fool,

We compose verse when bored. Music does nothing,

Music cures nothing. A source of wonder,

I read the phrase; a nothing phrase:

It didn’t cure me, not at all,

We write in place, in place of collapse,

Nearing termination – an automated voice.

 

The voice of a boy, brash and all that,

He who dared question me,

Clearly, my boy. Learn from the autonotoms,

We all learn greatly from autonotoms,

Abandoned by mother: I learned all from autonotoms,

Next week’s a bust, for us all,

It promised much. I change often

From British to American,

I’ve no passport, but I change,

I wear my cap backwards, to shield my neck.

 

I’ll be an early arrival, as you were also,

For I tire here, here on this park bench.

They come. They come and they stare. They wonder,

Freed from a hell state: I’ll have my way,

You did it, dear, although not greatly,

The year was several ago. You did it ….

Not quite. The telephone of service stations,

It rings loud. I hear it from across the way,

And several feet over, a soccer pitch beckons,

Here, we’ll bury the dead with ease.

 

Wondering if the sound is mechanical or other,

Show me yours, I’ll show you mine,

Appearances deceive: here, they ask questions,

I do not appreciate the disturbance,

Hair on top, wild, unkempt hair,

Suit and tie below: we can trust him,

Glad that she chose wisely,

I could have been fooled, and perhaps still,

She said her piece, I said mine, again,

I’ll find out soon. It will be grand,

As my entrance. Quiet you,

What a horrid spot to pass a while.

 

Always, we correct and change and change,

Failure to capitalise on one brief instant,

A falsely attributed name. I’ll be here,

Waiting in a cubicle in silent awe,

This doesn’t roll! Wait until next time, friend,

I’m in the sun, and I’ll wait until next year,

For I must. They work. They work hard,

Flat bottomed shoes for flat topped women,

A poor choice. I offered, you refused,

Ten minutes, but slightly less,

You’re always ahead of me,

In every queue.

 

And, who is he?

No one but the man of dreams, mine,

A silent alarm …. I hear,

I hear all the goings on here, it’s true,

And again, we check the time, in earnest,

We drink to the times,

We’re one amongst the masses,

Climbing aboard late,

Trees and trees. Blood, a bloodied finger,

Bloodied purposely: I worry not.

 

A ghastly suburb …. out. Get out,

Half way. Always half way, in or out,

A soft branch underfoot, made not a sound,

I crouch to pen a phrase: error,

Direct question, repeated: stare,

I have no response: I prefer this,

I’m wearied. You wearied me, cretins,

Audible breathing: death to you,

Or rin tin tin and no response,

I favoured my left side,

I was injured, by war, etc.

 

A child plays,

Father and son do not speak,

A dripping; a slow dripping,

Slow dripping blood from a small cut,

Razor wire: a deeper cut,

Tell it to your god: your child’s ill,

I cry out ‘wrong!’ I need the space,

Talk of telephones harms me,

Will she call? Will she respond?

The train’s delayed. She’s time to come,

To see me off. To change my mind,

But she doesn’t reply: she doesn’t come,

I board the lonesome train, bound for home,

I’ll forget her, never, for we never forget,

I loved; I love. I can’t, won’t, forget,

Bide your time, love. Now, I’m home.

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