Perception in the Rainbow Bar
Some Thoughts on Some Trains
You know, I’m sure, the Rainbow Bar
Where jetsam float from near and far,
To gather wide with staring eyes,
Hearts still muffled, destroyed by lies.
A wild man sat, full six feet tall,
His future damaged by previous maul,
Long since forgotten by perpetrators,
But still self evident beneath his layers.
Of matted face and muddled distress,
Thick hair, dirt grey, denying access
To steel blue eyes, aware the City,
But piercing souls in abject pity.
Flowing words and flowing liquor,
To those who know, a knowing flicker.
Myself in suit and briefcase locked;
A mirror which my mind has mocked.
(1985)
In the Rainbow Bar, surrounded by commuters snatching a last pint before the train, I watched a tramp, a giant of a man, unkempt and with defiant eyes, writing furiously. Poetry, I presumed. It could be myself in the future. This poem written on the 17:09 train from Liverpool Street to Broxbourne.
