Day Two Hundred and Fifty Seven: Where Does It Stop?


A Transient Ride

A low level dirty white light
fails to hide the grime
when you take a spin
round the clockwork orange circle.

Everything here is transient;
get on get off
look at no one
touch nothing
sit on the 70s patterned seats
see nothing
see no one
for twenty minutes at a time.

The Clash in my ears,
slight sewage smell as always,
commuters block out their senses,
only barely paying attention.

I usually sit on the left hand side
in the centre of the third carriage.
For six of my eight stops
I consume DeLillo
feeling like the Falling Man
until a man in a brown woolly hat gets on,
a large man, kind face,
and opens his bag
he pulls out Underworld,
points at the author and laughs.

I laugh two.

We keep reading until I get off the ride
and we both go back to our lives.


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