Sunday, 4 March 2012

In the quiet coach,

 a fellow sporting golden earplugs
with spaghetti down to a black snug
box the size of this packet
of playing cards in my jacket pocket,
- kings, queens, reds, blacks; faces and backs –

suddenly starts to sing ‘Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!’
in a screechingly smiley voice like a
backing singer – until I catch his eye
and grimace, turn to write a poem’s
smiling, silent speech – and hum.