A particularly depressing poem to celebrate National Poetry Day…

Low on the Victoria Line


A crumbling rennie,

sits next to me on an empty tube

the whispers of solitude

are betrayed, by a woman

in cleavage and hot pants

she pole dances and

waits to entice

sexual thoughts

and her dignity,

she does sacrifice

And the rennie


I haven’t digested life

It sits at the top of my stomach

and waits to make me sick

I’ve never been able to swallow



fill my insides

which are hollow

It just burns my throat

Its acid makes me choke

And now a child walks in

straw in coke

He holds his daddy’s hand and watches us

on this train

me scared of a Rennie, the woman dancing in vain

And I wonder, how is this now me?

there was no warning, no beforehand call

I question – didn’t I expense this fall?

It seems not , as the receipt glares in my face

Disappearance can only be done with an egotisitc trace

Nothing was gained

Nothing remains

I tried to destruct but caused little pain

Only indifference and a pittance of guilt

This shiny veneer of enthusiasm

is fraudulent and in truth’s eyes it

does wilt

And I can’t conjure up a when, a where or a how

as to why I am this person speaking right now