Tuesday, 31 March 2015

The Once and Future King



The bus driver, inscrutable behind dark glasses, wears a scarf
like mine and tries to defy the known laws of physics by forcing
two gold coins through the skin and bones of my palm in reaction
to my apology when I hand him a ten pound note and tell him
that I don’t have anything smaller. I thank him all the same and tell
him I didn’t need my hand anyway. Upstairs there’s hardly a seat left in the house. I perch next to a schoolboy who is reading, of all things, a cowboy book. I look down and read so what does it mean if my feet are pointing towards you? I think that I might be pushing my luck if I read any more and stop and wonder which way to direct my toes. The windows rapidly fog which makes it awkward because I don’t know what to look at. A celestial chiming begins and I wonder if I have finally died. Time stops as everybody listens. Maybe we have all died. When I get off at my stop I cross a grey bridge and the river looks very green. Light dances on the surface. 
In the cool and gloom of a subway a graffiti artist has sprayed  
the once and future king in lime green bubble lettering. 
I rise to the surface, step into the light again.

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Morlock Oil

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