A PortraitA Poem by ALifeAquatic No bloody idea, I quite like it though! A Portrait The reading lamp, How it fashioned him a halo. Old balding head, grey Illuminated with flickering light. Wrinkles softened. Yes, yes a kind light! A holy man, A Vicar. Bible in his hands, Gabriel by his sides. A message! Though I couldn’t hear what was said. Uttered in whispers, Drowned out by rattling, The steady strum of a mandolin, The low rumble of rock n roll drums And the rickety racketing of, “Box- Car after Box-Car.” As long departed beatniks would say! “Mummy, Mummy!” My eavesdropping interrupted! Eyes hid behind my paper. Dated 08/02/10. “Universities fear cuts in funding! Ageing out of Control. Links found between Genes and the ageing process. Red Hot offers only on play.com” Only a cross section of yesterday’s news! Broadsheet only for show at any rate. I much prefer tabloid tittle tattle, “England Captain, caught playing away from home. And not Strauss this time. Priest caught in bar wearing skirt! (If only Morrissey could see me snicker. God fashions man after himself, but Adam Takes it upon himself to fashion his wardrobe After Eve’s.) Such and Such a celebrity couple, Only together for the Brand.” Etc. Etc. Etc. “Mummy, Mummy,” The little girl she goes on pleading, Little hands on her mother’s face. “I think I think I’ve....” While the carriage is caught in the grip of, Trembling wheels, Whining of a mandolin, The steady beat of rock n roll drums, The rickety racketing of Box- Car after Box- Car. Bloody nosey b******s. Eyes glued to the, Dramatis persona- Of mother and daughter. “My feet are cold, But I’m wearing four pairs of socks.” The only way to combat the impending Six inches of snow. Two pairs of socks- On top of, Two pairs of socks. Balding vicar softened by the, Lamp. Well now, He is informing Gabriel of Something. Perhaps it is the presence of Lucifer just beyond the threshold! First class. Only for ticket holders you know. My, my, he has Caught me ogling. I look away. But not before I see him smile. I stir my coffee. Long fingers and a silver spoon. Take your mocha “When does the food car open?” My stomach is making, Rather loud protestations. If and when I don’t eat At a ratio of 2 meals Every four hours. The fuss it makes.” The reading lamp. How it flickers Box-Cars how they rattle. And the insistent drumming of, Second hand rock n roll. “Mummy, Mummy!” Vicar, Gabriel, Lucifer. What a strange trio. Even if one of them. Even if one of them is, Left out in the cold. Second class, What horror! A cigarette that shall calm my nerves. Shame that it is prohibited. There he goes smiling again. What a sly grin that old vicar has. On his way to surprise a parishioner. No doubt! “Mummy, Mummy!” The drama how it unfolds. What a scene! Surely I’ve seen it before! Moliere, Shaw, Bennet? Riveting at any rate! And the reading lamp! It continues to flicker, In fact it has added a new string! It’s sending off sparks. Bravo! The vicar! Dickensian now. “Please sir, can I’ve some more?” His grey head balding in no light! The Box- Car is rattling. The mandolin whining. Gabriel replaced by a ghost! Lucifer disguised as an orphan! “Mummy, Mummy.” The drumming loud, obnoxious. “For God’s sake, turn it down.” I am lost you may say! In a sea of freckles. Though it is a long time, Since I’ve seen said Visage. “Mummy, Mummy.” Poor girl! Mummy out cold. I do wish I could sleep, With such gusto. The reading lamp! It’s on again. I’m not the only one- To breathe a sigh of relief. The Vicar on his own is reading. The bible? No! Ibsen! What a cultured man he is. And still he goes on smiling. Such a sly grin he has. The carriage still caught in the grip, Still caught in Miasma. Wheels trembling! Mandolin whining. Drums beating, “Oh do please turn it down!” Coffee lids, coffee cups, coffee spoons. “Mummy, Mummy!” Box-Car after Box-Car! Poor Allen. Rickety Racketing again. Rumbled into sleep, The chug chugging of the engines, The rattling of the carriage, The trembling of the wheels. The Screeching of the brakes- And that shadow on the door, Connecting first with second. “Hush little baby, Don’t you cry, Momma’s gonna sing you a Lullaby.” Rumbled into sl.... The chug chugging of..... The rattling of the carriage, Trembling wheels. Screeching brakes- Shadow on the door, First with second. “Hush little baby, Don’t you cry, Momma’s gonna sing you a Lullaby.” Poor Allen. Rickety Racketing again.
© 2010 ALifeAquaticAuthor's Note
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ALifeAquaticBelfast (Currently based in York, England), IrelandAboutBorn October 1st 1990 in Belfast (Northern) Ireland. more..Writing
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