A True Story Poem

I’m finally doing my last bit of typing up before NaNoWriMo begins, and I came across a poem I wrote ages ago, or in August or something.

Nothing in particular to recommend – if you want to know my unsolicited rambling thoughts on every book I read, please check out my Twitter – but I am currently reading The Young and Prodigious TS Spivet, by Reif Larsen, which has delighted me by not being tryhard twee, but by being real and genuine and wonderful. I’m not finished yet, and I guess there’s always a chance that it’s going to end with “AND THEN IT WAS ALL A DREAM” or “IT WAS ACTUALLY ALL THE COMA DREAM OF A LITTLE BOY OOOOOOH SPOOOOKY AMIRITE” but so far it is looking rather good. Also, illustrations are class.

OK here’s my poem, based on a true thing that happened when I was getting off the tram after reading too hard.

This is Your Brain on Books

An egg of a workman, clad in
the overalls made purely for men like him,
pushes his trolley away from the top
of the escalator, ready to begin
his hallowed work, minor
priest of the city. We all say the same
silent prayer in the oily incense
wake of his passing. He lets the last layman
go by with a patient benediction, and
tickles the red direction-light like a
man who has lived among lions. I believe
in his communion so fervently that
I wait for him to tame the escalator’s
restless movement with this touch,
but he is only rubbing at a mark on the glass.

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