Your much lamented dyslexia
Was the bone of contention
You used to beat me down
When choosing between early Almodovar
And the Nouvelle Vague.
We each spoke one language
But reading between the lines
Proved impossible.
video
Follow the yellow brick road
We both knew all the words
To each of the numbers
And most of the steps
But neither wanted to be first
To break into song
Cowardly as the proverbial lion
Surrounded by the judgement
Of our peers and their puerile
Forays into social exclusion
At a dumbed-down video sleepover
Where MGM was not associated
With Leo or Slats,
Black and white was ‘boring’
And they had never heard of
Noir, or the Studio System
But could recite the calorific content
Of black coffee, chicken soup
And the price of keeping
On their uppers
Humanitarian Crisis
I worked late today
In the usual way
Then stood long for a bus
While ignoring the fuss
All the placards and song
Of a protesting throng
When the first one came full
Joined the back of the queue
‘Til I hopped on the second
No wiser, I reckoned
To pressure or purpose
That brought out the workforce
I sat in my headphones
Absorbing through eardrums
The tunes of a playlist
Unchanged through two ages
And stared through graffiti
At people beneath me
Not knowing, nor caring
What fate we were sharing
Familiar landscape blurred
Into the sounds I heard
Hopped off three stops early
Finished one journey
I trudged ‘cross the common
To see if I’d find one
More bus driver’s hubs
Standing still by the pubs
Sure enough, there I saw
Not just one, but some four
When one finally, late
Put his pedal to plate
He pulled up to the tavern
Waved me past his cabin
For NFC, broken
Would not zap my token
I settled inside
Chose a tune for my ride
But two stops, no further
We stopped in a lather
Five kids, come from school
With no change to fare-pool
Tried to board, barter, beg
But compassion was neg.
As commuters grew restless
One woman, well-dressed, stressed
Their selfishness loudly
“Eff off!” she yelled, proudly
Some gentleman, small
Added footage to gall
Thus the youths took offense
At this lack of good sense
And a row quickly rose
As his phone met his toes
While we waited, suspended
To see what might end it
Some ran for the next bus
Some added their voices
And called for policemen
To make them see reason
It took three more stops
And a call to the cops
But not one among us
Could hit on the obvious
Tempers grew heated
As workers felt cheated
Ashamed, I forgot
Or I simply did not
Check I had enough money
Available, on me
To throw them a bone
So we’d all make it home.
Katherine Shirley 