A Phonecall Overheard
after the Poets Express event in 2010. The pointlessness of it
inspired the following poems.
A woman speaks… I overhear
As others talking ot their phones I hear
Informing others of their lateness… “Dear!”
As someone on the line has died.
It could be a boy, or a girl either
Says a woman behind, her eyes open wider
As she jokes of grim reapers calling, my head she does meider
As unknown jokes to her are replied.
But I cant contain a grin
Better sense says to keep within
As the carraigewheels start to spin
As the blood on the tracks has dried.
The flesh and brains swept away
To body bags, to be buried and decay
After funeral, where others pray
Who when living the deceased could not bide.
That is life… it is insane
You stop all jumping in front of a train
Blood and guts is all of you does remain
And you interrupt others train ride.
The rails are scraped, washed and cleaned
And debris removed that on sleepers leaned
And news o your death by others is gleaned
The trains resume again… sure as the tide.