Tuesday, April 20, 2010

P.D.A.

There is a cello on the Jubilee line.
He is standing tall,
chest puffed out,
all smooth and smarmy,
all Nigel Havers, all
Yes,
I'm a cello.
A small child looks up with saucer eyes
at the petite woman holding
him.
She caresses his smooth,
black
Batman-chested
case of a body,
all muscles and brawn.
People look away,
stare into their paperbacks,
look intently at their fingernails
on the grimy handrails
or notice themselves in the
opposite windows.
The cello woman sways,
her floral dress flutters flirtily,
she sways
and gives her body into him.
Above the clatter and din
of the 8.48 from Canning Town
you'd swear you could hear the
low
grumbling
twang
of his strings.

4 comments:

rxkitten said...

I found myself rocking to the rythem of the train. Cello is such a romantic instrument...beautiful poem!

petemarshall1 said...

this is absolutely brilliant. I've been on that journey when i worked in the city so many times. Wonderful imagery....loved it

petemarshall1 said...

absolutely brilliant...the imagery was spot on, gonna enjoy reading your work...cheers Pete

the half-life of linoleum said...

Well - this is an inspired handful of words - despite my having no earthly idea who nigel havers is. The opening line is wonderful. So matter of fact so - mother died today. . .

By the end I could hear the cello too.

Superb.

And now - thanks to you and go'ogle - I know who nigel havers is.