ominous bus poetry
I wrote this poem half asleep on a bus back home from Waterloo. Had drinks and food with the bambaiya gang again (Harvard is being given a second chance) in the places under Hungerford Bridge. After that it got even better with a walk downriver on south bank till Waterloo Bridge and up it. There was a crazy music festival happening in 'Watch this Space' at the National Theatre. Music video type things were being projected on a screen at riverside walkway level, and the same projection on the much (ab)used face of the NT. People loved it. So did I, checking it out from several vantage points along waterloo bridge on my way to the bus stop on Aldwych. I took the 243, thinking I wouldn't mind the walk down Stokey Church Street much.. a nap on the way would refresh. Before napping, I wrote this :
Lately,
I've been sleeping muchly on public transport,
once the bus driver had to wake me at the end of a route,
I've been feeling kinda top of form,
y'know, on a sexiness index,
been trying to work hard in the office,
and exploring options for a crucial alternative to whiskey as a summer drink.
I think Rose is it.
Nice huh? The mood was mellow, but with almost Rowlingesque foreshadowing, I mentioned the sleeping bit. True to fate, I missed my stop by Miles. Finally realised it in a suburban shithole (I won't apologise to South Tottenham readers). Got off the bus and crossed the road to catch a bus back in my direction, was rubbing eyes dazedly when this absolutefuckingchootargand suddenly ripped my handbag off my shoulder and ran. I dunno, I suddenly went heroic and gave chase, yelling curses and blue murder also. A passerby tried to help, but didn't manage to stop the fucker. He turned into a patli gali, and I stopped chasing. More would have been very foolish indeed.
I don't feel like telling the rest of the story now. Bit shaken, quite angry, quite angry with myself for being so stupid and drunk. Anyway, I'm home and safe, cops picked me up after I called them, they drove me around the neighbourhood to try and catch the bastard. But no go. Have cancelled my cards, and now going to sleep downstairs because upstairs is too hot and full of thoughts or regrets or something. Oh, had dropped first wife off at the airport before the waterloo activities. So it was always going to be a crappy evening at some level anyway.
Fuck it could have been Much worse. Thank God it wasn't.
Lately,
I've been sleeping muchly on public transport,
once the bus driver had to wake me at the end of a route,
I've been feeling kinda top of form,
y'know, on a sexiness index,
been trying to work hard in the office,
and exploring options for a crucial alternative to whiskey as a summer drink.
I think Rose is it.
Nice huh? The mood was mellow, but with almost Rowlingesque foreshadowing, I mentioned the sleeping bit. True to fate, I missed my stop by Miles. Finally realised it in a suburban shithole (I won't apologise to South Tottenham readers). Got off the bus and crossed the road to catch a bus back in my direction, was rubbing eyes dazedly when this absolutefuckingchootargand suddenly ripped my handbag off my shoulder and ran. I dunno, I suddenly went heroic and gave chase, yelling curses and blue murder also. A passerby tried to help, but didn't manage to stop the fucker. He turned into a patli gali, and I stopped chasing. More would have been very foolish indeed.
I don't feel like telling the rest of the story now. Bit shaken, quite angry, quite angry with myself for being so stupid and drunk. Anyway, I'm home and safe, cops picked me up after I called them, they drove me around the neighbourhood to try and catch the bastard. But no go. Have cancelled my cards, and now going to sleep downstairs because upstairs is too hot and full of thoughts or regrets or something. Oh, had dropped first wife off at the airport before the waterloo activities. So it was always going to be a crappy evening at some level anyway.
Fuck it could have been Much worse. Thank God it wasn't.
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