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Down gets up
Contributed by
poeticjestix
on
Sunday, 24th July 2011 @ 12:14:28 AM in AEST
Topic:
StoryPoetry
|
Mr. Down gets up in the morning
he's wearing a frown because his life is boring
he addresses the mirror apologetically
then descends the stairs to make a cup of tea.
The toaster is set, the T.V. Is blaring
he hits the wash pile to choose what he's wearing
the ironing board clacks as he sets out his fashion
what happened to his dreams, his pride and his passion?
He waits for a bus in the cold light of day
frustrating himself as mass passes his way
he thinks for a second the bus stop's abandoned
boredom sets in, he thinks thoughts that are random.
Guns and guitars, what ifs and wherefores
frightening himself, wondering what he went there for
he'll stock up on essentials, tinned food just in case
the bus rides the brow, there's relief on his face.
The bus door is opened he hands over his fare
repeating daily the strange made up name where
he will alight, 50 yards from his work place
it's 12 minutes late it is a total disgrace.
The bus is packed badly, with coughing disciples
he'd take out ten percent if he had a rifle.
The chav on the back seat swears broadly and loud
Texting, feet on facing chair, cocky and proud.
He's just about bearable, unlike the whiff
from the bloke sat in front and his dodgy quiff.
Clothes that were washed but took too long to dry
upon him looks down, and he's wondering why?
The bus whirls away then hums a monotony
vibrating and clacking as traffic lights don't pity
down, feeling tired, rests his solid forehead
on the window, the shaking shakes out the cobwebs.
At last the ring-road beckons, the bell is pressed.
He sits pensively, knowing this is a test
counting and watching then getting up sharply
momentum carries him, walking so startle'y,
tapping and rapping the poles like a master.
His obsession with routine, a total disaster.
Doors open,the bus starts to stop. Down thanks driver,
he steps off, a rhythm known by all bus riders.
The next test approaches, he passes the bakers
the smell of sweet bacon, a moment to savour
but he is so late that his story would falter
if he brought a meaty treat up to the alter.
he gets to his desk, says good morning politely
the piles in his tray are all messed up, unsightly.
He rattles around like he's searching a den
under his desk is where he finds his pen.
His boss wants to speak to him, things are not easy
less cogs are required, conversation is greasy
the tiles will remain but we can't afford grout
the long and the short is that Down is now out.
Down leaves his office, trembling with fear
he gave those bastards the best of this 10 years
his fire and his passion returned, but no glory.
Pride is destroyed.
No moral to this story.
Copyright ©
poeticjestix
... [
2011-07-24 00:14:28]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: Down gets up
(User Rating: 1 )
by slayer_015 on
Sunday, 24th July 2011 @ 06:43:28 AM AEST
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a Message)
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extremely sad,yet awesome!!!!!great job.
Brian |
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Re: Down gets up
(User Rating: 1 )
by Deidra_Carmichael on
Monday, 25th July 2011 @ 05:11:51 PM AEST
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a Message)
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Oh wow! Ironically Down reminds me of Winston Smith from 1984- living the same monotonous patter called life. Lovely yet dreary and that makes the poem effective. Thanks for sharing, take care and God bless,
Deidra |
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