Bag lady? Trampess?
A snap judgement framed in my recall
of a rather preoccupied reader
of a nameless book
In a nameless inn.
She sat as if in mid –stitch
Rocking the treadle
Right footedly
Of an invisible Singer sewing machine
No trundle noise came forth
(Bar the the bass-line roll
from the cockney’s Joanna)
Wet the finger
Touch the corner
Flick, but do not turn
Touch the corner
Flick, but do not turn
Wet the finger
Touch the corner
Push the specs to top of nose
Wet the finger
Touch the corner
Push the specs to top of nose
Again and again
Wet the finger
Touch the corner
Push the specs to top of nose
STOP
Carefully turned the book
Face down
Pressed flat to table
She reached up
Picking from her ear
The tiniest piece of paper
Like the cigarettes that came
with the joke shop smoking monkeys.
She unrolled it
On the back of her book
Unfolded the halved bus ticket
Turn it it over
Rehalved
Refolded
Replaced in her ear.
Wet the finger
Touch the corner
Flick, but do not turn
Touch the corner
Flick, but do not turn
Wet the finger
Touch the corner
Push the specs to top of nose
It took me twenty years to wonder,
Was that a return ticket to somewhere?
Danny Reynolds
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/010-paperback-flashback/
