Tag: Commuter

Tip, tip, tip, little fingers tap,
Tube stop Anderson .Paak smacking
The rim of an imaginary skin,
Beating meat on his knee, 1, 2, 3…
For he’s squeezing out a beat like it’s fresh orange juice,
Hair pulled back, ponytail loose,
Slumped all kinds of louche –
It’s the end of day, got nothing to lose.
Decadent deviant, misread miscreant,
Creating a melody not meant to be read,
As thoughts sing indelibly inside of his head,
Hands steady, ready, then ready to go,
Treble clef after clef, humming note after note
I follow the rhythm like I’m reading a quote,
No way to paraphrase the fading phases
Of his creative daze, been thinking for days.
Ruminating, germinating, Raybans aviating,
Mirrored on the front so
It’s my own face that holds my gaze as I perambulate.
Perfecting the written reflection of his
Cherry blossom blazer, dirty with patterns
Like a Japanese spring,
The flowers are falling
And cover him like lint.
He grins a self satisfied, yellow grin
And I hope to God that his pillow has a mint.
Can’t rescind that which cant be undone,
Just as you can’t run after crossing your legs
Even in jeans, the question still begs
An answer to a figure of four cross
Held from the first to his last stop –
Sew him back together when the
Pins and needles make him drop.

She’s getting pepped up and preppy,
Peppering her tongue with a full can of Pepsi
Candidly handling brand spanking new plans
That involving necking all of the black can,
She zero sugar reppin,
Ring pull rippin,
Cross-legged sittin
Won’t surprise me if she gets indigestion
Or a heart burn in her muscular engine.
Must be a Multipack buying legend,
Packing down multiple cans in a session.
The skin on her face eventually regressing,
Second guessing the sugar coated spots,
Hot to pop like pop tarts that have gone off.
Bland blonde locks hanging lankly
Eye’s fixed on her reflection so blankly,
Where are her thoughts, who robbed the banky?
And wiped her mind clean
With a tissue not a hankie?
What’s the matter? Couldn’t afford Bounty?
Bountiful bounty, it’s a peg leg affair
In those pinstripe leggings that expose spikes of leg hair,
Unshaved for days, pays to be savoir faire,
Call it pirate flair or Blackbeard charm
No need to pass coins from your palm to her palm
It’s like she’s making a point
That we won’t come to harm,
Cos she hardly looks barmy, just aloof
Never smarmy, she just smarting at the garms
Garnered by the rush hour army.

It’s been a little while, hasnt it!

Anyway here’s a new commuter poem, sorry if it’s a bit sloppier than usual – im feeling a little rusty!

—

Just pin the tail on the donkey,
And I don’t wanna see nothing funny,
So no funky junkies or monkeying around,
No silent phones that don’t make a sound,
No square pegs hanging around in the round,
No more clowns with painted on frowns
Throwing around unpasteurised crowns.
Tears that leak onto puff pastry cheeks
Are lapped up by cheap burlap sacks
Tacked to puppy fat
That warily watch where his nose goes
Cos they know, like you and I know:
Such a sharp schnozz is a balloons worst foe.
Zip that jacket up lickety split,
The design’s out of time,
So cover up before they cotton on
That grey stripes on black cotton
Is as rotten a design as the sodden cigarette butts
Bummed by the gums of Dot Cotten.
Eesh, gone but not forgotten,
No matter how much I try to forget ’em.
Must be a relaxed chap as he
Pulls a polish calendar out his bag and
Proceeds to loosely flick through
In lieu of a smart phone
Looks like he’s making a smart move,
Fingering each day, moment to moment
Like a showman on show
Without shit on his shoes,
Without sniffing some glue
Without getting a clue from either me, you or blue
But the best he can do is
Buff each mark out of his shoes,
Soft suede, played like a fiddle
Until the nylon strings quiver, afraid,
As if he’s afraid that his laces might fray
Day after day until they fade away
And his shoes slip off unseen
While he’s stuck walking the wrong way.

Moustachioed musketeer
I pulled his hair and he mustered a tear
I bet he’s glad it weren’t the T-bone beard,
Cross the T’s and dot the eyes,
No reply for a receding hairline
Other than ‘at lees it dun’t get in mah eyes’.
Sure, but belittling belies my ill fitting ego,
Ergo, I’ll go where he goes
And make sure that he knows
I’m in it for the long haul,
Like Westbrook and coke.
Weird though, how the five finger span
Of a forehead grows, hair hung up
Like the tail of a thouroughbred
‘Cept it’s tied so tight it pulls the hair off his head.
Strands left in bed and on his pillow
Poor fellow, hands tobacco yellow
Mellowed in old age, former hell raiser
With a smart casual twist –
Mmm-hmm, finger click,
Tucks an arm into the other pit,
Sweaty Betty for the fingertips,
Tippy-tapping on the screen,
There’s no point in claiming to like it
Cos it’s all becomes old news
Just as soon as you swipe it.

Toes turned in like he’s bashful
Ankles oblique, angles so flexible
Belly full from the Billericay leather,
Shoes so shiny we’re eating dinner whenever, wherever
Splitting spaghetti, I didn’t regret it
Laddy & the Tramp tampered with Samson
Cutting off his locks like he’s a Super Tramp son
Ambles on the spot, shook up by the carriage shock
Creases in his slacks, split in half, hi-5 Spock.
Polish off the polish so none gets on your socks.
Now I’m off, judging all his plastic
Classic M&S baggy cos he’s classy
What’s inside? Makes me all Thalassy
Could be ghastly, the Metro in his hand is being kinda flappy
Shaking the sudoku, which is why he’s doing badly
Unflappable, tension from station to station is palpable
Malleable like memories of Mabel as a little girl,
Unfurls a finger stretch, sniff and eyeball rub,
Looking overdressed in a yellow winter coat with the shiniest studs
Soon to be a dud, chewed up life’s cud
Passing on his wisdom with his life’s blood
Peers out the door as the platform pulls up.

Sassy mouth-pouts spout saliva stalactites
Troops of roots tied tight in the mouth roof
As she chews the mucus just like juicy fruit.
Short-ass kid who thinks she’s cute
But kick her to the kerb if she won’t mute:
Kerb meet girl, girl meet boot.
To tell the truth, couldn’t do that to a youth
Who ain’t big enough to fill one of Stormzy’s shoes.
And the square root of four is two, too true,
Two blue Creeper creps protect each step
In a hench leather case, ensuring any escape
Is a waste of space rather than a bonafide race.
Internal kinder egg legs, milky white choc,
Out of sight bar the ankle tops:
Spotty socks rolled down beneath the roll ups,
Dark denim designed for daily dilly-dallying
Sashaying around in a camo green bomber jacket
The sort you’d see on Kanye West,
But I guess second best will suffice,
Now she’s asking ‘who’s Jamiroquai?’
Fuck man, this girl needs to recognise…
Take that Metro and cover it in petrol,
Now light a match and let go,
Like, right away. Now, from the get go.
Take your little hamster cheeks, sit down in your seat
And enjoy the fucking dairylea lunchable
That, I guess it’s your brother, gave you to eat.
Just shut up and eat.
Damn…

Did you catch the active wear over there?
Yeah, yeah, the one with the pulled back hair
And the high angle ponytail pulled back with care?
Leaving the forehead bare and the skin stretched thin
Above the now deployed Croydon grin,
Black hair, white teeth, call it original sin
Fashion alert: Adidas Originals are back in!
Three stripe ticker tape sprayed all over her bingo wings,
Jail bird chicken strips wiped up her arms,
Flammable yarn doused in oil slicks
That cut the white satin sheen
Into the blurred lines of
A perpendicular cocaine fiend’s dream.
Rocking a fool’s gold zip, saliva slips
When she licks the ripped rizla like a lizard,
Coloured tongue hangs like hankies from the sleeve of a wizard –
Elbow-grease, lick-spittle magic tricks,
Every last baccy strand must be gripped,
Grabs every last bit out of her oversized bag,
Sags like an elephant’s skin under the weight
Of all the hidden Elephant brand gin
That’ll be guzzled after the gym!
Just don’t spill any on those turquoise leggings bae,
Or rip the knees if tripped by webbing on your wedding day,
Y’all must be tired, get yourself home and
Lay on your bedding for the rest of the day.