crossing Holderness by bus

from me next book

a long wait ahead
for a replacement bus –
ours had overheated.
 
I sit on an iron bench
its struts griddle my legs
 
it’s noon
the sun is high and hot –  
energy-sucking hot –
a tree affords shade.
 
I stand reading a book –
Tom Paulin poetry –
stepping into his reality.
 
he writes decent poetry – this is a rarity.
 
at my feet cigarette ends
and an ant scuttling
into shoe-sole cool.
 
my bus arrives.
 
I sit at the front – shady side
glancing from
the fields of Holderness to Belfast poetry.
 
Belfast poetry to the fields of Holderness.
 
all is quiet until
a whirligig of young girls’
squirling swirling pig-tail giggling
fills the bus.
 
I suck a tissue to plug my ears
against the irruption of
unbearable pathos.  
 
behind their tinsel worldly-wisdom
they are teenage innocents.
 
a certain sundering will come.
 
lust – not just their own –
is tapping urgently
at their window pane.
 
the progression is well-trodden;
 
an old tale retold…
an old song replayed…
innocent cuddling… kissing…
hasty fumbling… careless coupling…
 
stumbling blind into motherhood –
the giving of birth
that tearing pain
through which the world renews
 
they tumble the stairs
out into sunshine
still giggling.
 
I hope they find affection.
 
I wish them warmth.
 
 
 
 

© coolhermit 2019
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critique and comments welcome.

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amazing, loved it

Guajiros
Member

Another excellent observational piece. I wish I’d read it last week. Glad I have now. Definitely not a poem to be discarded. Good luck with the book.

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