Cacophony Of Incompetent Wrongs

A Lament for Train & Chorus

Gorecki's Symphony
Of Sorrowful Songs 
Plays in my head as
the tip of my snot box
Is squashed firmly
against the sliding doors
Of the delayed 07.29
from Rowley to Snow Hill.

The person standing
behind is closer to me
Than my wife
in bed last night.
We could well be
fucking one another
In motion to the train
with none being wiser.

My stomach turns inside out
As a stale waft of
last nights chicken masala
Expels from a gob,
connected to a foot
That flattened my big toe
only moments ago.

I earwig every word of an argument 
As a lady on my left
screams into her phone,
Blame exchanged
for the loss of a tv remote.
I resist chiming in with
“try the dishwasher.”

Glancing the other way,
a white haired elder 
Scrolls through an
infinite list of tubes.
I shake off a double
take when I realise
All are him clothed as
a bumbling Dumbledore.

Gazing with wistful arrogance
across the tracks,
A tram slides
temporarily into parallex. 
As my eyes fix on my
counterpart starring back,
I swear I hear his voice
in my head wimper,

h e l p !

Crossing the tropics of
Smethwick Galton Bridge,
Our temperate mobile
biome begins to bake.
Pale faces flushed
with blushes of red.
Beads of perspiration
shining on every head

Mouth dry I stare in contempt
at a seated millennial
Calmly sipping from an
insulated travel tumbler,
Expecting them to whip out
a trek express toaster,
As sausages sizzle
on a USB camping stove.

Respite at the Hawthorns,
I come up for air
As a handful of suits
step into the mele.
Taking a breath I retreat
into the depths,
Fenced in by a fleshy wall
of fragrant go-getters.

Bees buzz incessantly
around lug-holes,
Dueting with the baritone
drone of diesel.
An accompaniment to
the punctuated twitter
Of scandals, holiday reminisces,
& tv chat.

Time is a commodity
that is wished away.
Slipping through fingers
without delay.
Each soul longing for
the end of the line.
When deliverance
arrives boxed inside.

“Scuse me sorry guys,
coming through!”
A two wheeled fifteen speed racer
Breaks the cover of living statues. 
Rider skinned in stretched hi-vis.

Caughted in a wave of momentum.
Hemorrhaging through
a human crevice,
I am sicked up at the Jewelry Quarter
As hoards of working
whores file past.

Scrambling back through
a briar of bodies,
My fumbling feet trip
through closing doors.
A sun kissed suitcase breaks my fall,
While eyes on stalks gawp
as I lay in a heap.

Closing my peepers
I turn up Upshaw.
Her rising lament
soundtracks my plight.
Bowed strings build
a wall of sound.
Waves of electricity
crash through my body
As I rise weightless
to my feet in zero G.
My soul lifting in a
crescendo of light.

Suddenly a screech breaks the spell.
Drunk we toss like a machine wash.
Blackout from a
backpack in the chops,
My face falling into a
wizard’s damp armpit.

A swirl of brush strokes dance
In a boundless azure sky.
Glowing fields of gold sway
As we glide silently by.
Embraced by two arms
I float on a cushion of air,
Sipping a scrumptious cocktail,
Sat In an elephant sized chair.
Here time has been tamed
To heel at its masters side,
Without any childish desire
To run away and hide.
I doze safely in the certainty
That on waking I will arrive
Exactly when I ought.
Then into the swell I dive.

A musty perfumed
elixir revives sense
With a start as my face
wilts in despair.
My brain overheats trying to deduce
Second guessing a contrived excuse.

Leafall slipping over the tracks.
Signals that don’t find a way back.
Lazy trains that can not keep up.
Old-timer drivers that can’t wake up.
Frozen points, flooded rails,
Trees uprooted in freak gales.
Objected ticket inspections.
Congested missed connections.
High wired live wires
lighting the lines.
Jumpers who can’t cope with life.

Regurgitating apologies annoy,
Spewing from a distorted tannoy.
Wearing a plastic grin I make light
Denying an impulse take flight.

Every eye is a well holding a lie.
Betraying a heart that waits
With a sigh at the end of the line,
Where air is strangled by despair.

A canned claustrophobic squeeze.
Sinews aching for release.
Primordial forces rise
from the depths.
Vocal chords no longer suppressed.

“For heavon’s sake” I shout,
“When will this hell end?”
Heads turn open mouthed
As a single spot shines down.

“Every sorry day’s the same.
No seats on this blessed train.”
Horrified by the attention I draw,
Like I’m some kind of Satan spawn.

I wax lyrical for what seems an age.
A verbal vomit of scornful rage.
At the crescendo I yell,
“We need to revolt!!”
Just then the carriage
moves with a jolt.

Up an almighty cheer does soar.
I sheepishly nod to
accept the applause,
Then realise it probably ain’t for me,
But for our gaolers setting us free!

So we limp to Snow Hill
without a murmur.
Not a word said about
the nastiness further.
Alight silently our spirits floored,
Till the next time we are platformed.

When normal chaotic
service is restored.