We met at a bus stop,
Waiting for the X80
Bound for Plymouth,
Green double decker
Which was dangerous,
I thought, in camouflage
Against fields in lanes,
It’s funny, but I can’t recall
A single word that passed
Between us, odd that,
Or perhaps not so
When I consider that
I was preoccupied
With your ravening,
Velvet eyes and mouth.
We sat in seats that
Faced each other
On the lower deck,
We faced each other
Between Torquay
And Paignton.
It was a mediocre 4pm
Journey of a mismatch
Of young and old
From school and clubs
Or Bingo and tea shops,
Me, clutching books
Trying to come to terms
With Chaucer, smelling
Weakly of Rive Gauche.
You were brazen
Under the flicks
Of dark brown hair
That draped across
A beautiful face,
You spoke to me
And I remember the
Blue rinse perms
Of a thousand
Grandmothers twisting
To stare, it was all you,
Charm and lust, heavy
With it, swamping
Me, as you deftly
Moved in for the kill.
You swapped seats to sit
Beside me, one arm
Languorously appearing
Around my shoulders
As you lunged, pressing
Your lips, angry against
Mine, we remained bolted
Amongst the disgusted
Glares of pensioners
Rocked on the jerking
Diesel, swathed, relishing
Delays and endless
Troops of passengers,
Clambering on
And tripping off.
I, sensible, thinking,
Even with my blush
Burnt face and shock
At this unexpected
Turn of events,
Wanting to exchange
Numbers before my stop,
You complied then
Quickly resumed,
Boy consumed girl
As if racing the clock,
(I imagined later that
You were an escapee
From Dartmoor,
And quietly violent.)
I got off, rapidly
Feeling excitement
And shame in delayed
Reaction bursts, filtering
Down from lips still aching
And bruised from you
As I walked home,
Each groggy step
Containing some slight
Regaining of myself,
Mustering at twilight,
Assembling the look
Of teenage nonchalance
And boredom required
For parents and home.
You rang once
And my Nan answered,
You didn’t understand
That I had to be in
By ‘lighting up time’
As Nan put it,
Hot milk and Rich Tea
Biscuits sat on a saucer
At 9pm; we watched
The news together
As I listened to her
Tut, you didn’t understand,
You were older, at least
Seventeen, I wasn’t fazed
By your lack of contact.
I hadn’t been looking
For love at the time
Anyway, when reality
Came clouding over
On the telephone,
We had just met
At a bus stop, after all.
Comments
LawOfTheOne | April 2, 2008 - 17:49
Excellent. Really engaging poem.
Particularly liked the 3rd last stanza, but it's all so good. I prefer this one of your two inspiration point pieces.
mikepyro | April 2, 2008 - 22:20
A lengthy but envolving poem, very deep and very romantic. really well done. reads almost like a small story rather than poetry but it adds a bit of depth to the style. well done.
Doeslittle | April 2, 2008 - 23:04
Thanks for commenting both of you. I think it's an easier read than the other, but I wanted to express the idea that the two statements could also be seen as a changing attitude - one more reflective of youth and the other more reflective of age and anxiety...or something along those lines anyway. I'm glad you liked this - it really happened - a very cheeky, young man did pounce on me on the x80 and I did drink hot milk with my Nan most evenings watching the news when I lived there. It made it quite hard to be the yob I wanted to be.
I think the structure makes it look a lot longer than it really is.
nametaken | April 3, 2008 - 11:32
I like this a lot.
I think it's a very accurate description. I can't imagine the pensioners being disgusted though - I think envy is more likely. But maybe they put on disgusted faces.
Btw. do mean fazed when you write "I wasn't phased," or do I just not understand that line?
Doeslittle | April 3, 2008 - 18:00
Thanks. Well, they looked horrified at least. I think it was blatantly obvious that we'd known each other for about five minutes before snogging commenced. I doubt it exactly constituted 'courting' in their eyes.
And I mean as in 'not bothered' so which is it fazed or phased? It's a dodgy spelling moment again...who knows the answer? And I'll change it if it's wrong.
keleph | April 3, 2008 - 22:04
dont let spelling faze you, its a great poem capturing a special moment (as many poems do) but also looking back quietly After the magic (wich few poems do)
thanks
Foster | April 3, 2008 - 23:33
Yup, good stuff. I liked the line breaks, the style of it all. You say this was written from a prompt? It's reads as though the recollection is your own. Nice, DL.
foster.
Doeslittle | April 3, 2008 - 23:43
The recollection is my own, but was prompted. I wrote the tale of woe first and then remembered when I cared less and wrote this too. Thanks Foster.
luigi_pagano | April 4, 2008 - 16:01
Good romantic poem but I agree with others that it is a tad too long and reads more like a story than a poem. 'Fazed' is the word you are looking for and, being a pedant, I would change the offending word.
sunshine | April 4, 2008 - 22:06
You've described beautifully the mix of innocence, knowing, tentative and curious quality of youth in this. I'm not too sure about the quickening pace at the end although I see the relevance of this but for me the length is fine.
Ewan | April 5, 2008 - 19:05
I'm a pedant too, as I have often revealed myself to be... It only matters here because of what you want to say and what you want us to understand. Isn't it funny that - in this particular case - if you performed this poem, there would be no doubt about what that was?
The important thing is this is an excellent poem, which is why it's cherried up, and why there are so many comments.
Your stuff is seriously good.
anipani | May 9, 2008 - 11:31
seriously good. i agree.