Train Poem #4

Happy New Year Gangbangers!

Gotta be honest – only had time to write the bare bones of this one on the morning train a couple of weeks ago and, perhaps fittingly, I had to dust it off and pretty it up just now before posting …



The lady on the seat in front

is deliberately undergoing a public metamorphosis.


She’s putting on quite a show

for everyone in the carriage.


With her palette and brushes

laid out by her side like a surgeon’s tools,

ensuring someone can’t sit down.


Emergency battlefield surgery is required,

before this train pulls into town.


The plain and pallid bed-head,

is interring herself under a max factor meadow,

regenerating inside a Clarins cocoon.


With a Freudian mirror clamped between her stockinged pins,

forcing her skirt up into her crotch…

My god it feels so wrong to watch,

but she’s right there in my face,

invading my sacred morning space.


She carries on as if there’s no one there,

like she doesn’t even care.

Only there is, and she does.


Otherwise she’d have done all this at home,

or would wait and do it in the train station bathroom.

But for some reason, it is important to her,

that we all get to witness her theatrical preparations.


We privileged few are privy to the magician’s secrets.

We get to see behind the curtain;

the before and after:

the bedraggled budget purchase with the price tag left on,

and the lavishly repackaged birthday present draped in bows and ribbons.


Promising some great reward,

if you can just undo those tricky knots,

tear the paper off,

and open it up.


Perhaps she has a childlike need for attention?

Perhaps it’s a clever post-feminist statement about office gender politics?

Perhaps it’s a vulgar form of courtship for would-be suitors?

Perhaps she’s daring a cocksure mate

to step up and grasp the lure,

so she can bite his big head off,

and let her foul brood feast on the remains?

Perhaps she needs to feed off our excreted reactions

to to replace a thing she lacks?

To complete the effect?

To cement the cracks in her suit of armour?


Or perhaps she’s just rather disorganised and late for work,

and I’m vomiting my easy prejudice

into the disposable coffee cup

of her reluctant public pickle?


As the train pulls into the main station,

her transformation is complete.

That drooling office lovefool won’t suspect a thing!

as his hand slides into his trouser pocket,

to hide a hard-on with his wedding ring.


The suburban diva has pulled it off again!

The carriage erupts in a standing ovation!


13 thoughts on “Train Poem #4

  1. Excellent descriptions! There was a woman on the train I used to take to work that would do the same. First she did the make-up and also had an elaborate jewellery exhibition as well. 🙂


    1. Ah thank you Mermaid!
      It’s quite a sight to behold isn’t it. Like you’ve been teleported into someone’s private bathroom. It’s all about the subterfuge for the people at work and you don’t matter! You can see a lot of sides of human nature just riding trains.
      I just pray to god no one is watching me and writing about THAT!

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Why thank you Madam Susan! That’s lovely feedback. You are as always too kind!
      In my paranoid defence though … I wasn’t perving at her rubbing my knees or anything! Actually I wasn’t looking at her much at all. I just noticed and saw enough to scribble down the bones of the poem! Then I got back to my …. OTHER WRITING, Da da DAAAAAA!
      Besides, she wasn’t quite my cup of tea! And likely she was young enough to be my sodding daughter! Most of the train folk are. Ha ha ha! (crying feeble tears into my Ovaltine here). Thanks for reading and being kind.

      Liked by 3 people

        1. Noooooooo. It’s not true. I would never knock you out Susan.
          In fact, I would knock out the man who tried to knock you out.
          And then I would knock out Mr. Susan for his impudence and ride off with you over my lap into the Susanset.

          Liked by 1 person

  2. That is such a funny mental image! Knowing my tendencies towards gracefulness (none.) I would probably slip off the horse and get trampled on, and then the horse would buck you off and we would land in a mud bog (are those near you? I’m trying to be geographically-correct).


    1. Oh all that would happen and worse. I’m the most clumsy-horse-fool ever. I’d be left drowning in my muddy bog and that Poldark swine would ride u and whisk you off. He’s say something phony like “What about him?” and you’d say something cruel like “What about who?”, I’d cry as I drowned. Errrr this ended horribly and I WAS WRITING IT!?”£?!”$ It makes no SAENSE!”!”$£!”£”£%”£% SSSSUUUUUUUUSSSSSSSSSAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNN

      Liked by 1 person

        1. Ah Susan – thank you. I think you are too kind! I think you are a better writer than I’ll ever be. I only seem to be able to write mental or boring stuff! You have a better balance. I wish we could meet up for a coffee too. It makes me sad I am an ocean away from my friends in the states. The internet is a blessing and a curse in some ways.

          Liked by 1 person

    1. By the way Susan – there’s an unfortunate typo in that last comment – it was meant to say “that Poldark swine would ride up”
      No wonder you said oy vey!
      Sorry! (thought technically I feel it’s Poldark’s fault)

      Liked by 1 person

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