We have
left the Brighton to London
Commuter
line
And are
travelling cross country
No
longer heading for the city
The
carriage is quiet, nearly empty
And outside
an early frost
And
watercolour sky
I spoke
too soon
Into the
carriage pour
A
hundred school or more
School children
Why do
they shout?
Why such
loud conversation?
Why are
their voices so shrill?
The cacophony
and impatience
of the
i-phone generation
Oh,
where is the quiet girl, reading a book?
Where
are the two boys engrossed in chess,
Where is
the boy with the nervous glances
And unrequited fantasies?
And unrequited fantasies?
3 comments:
And where is the lad with his orange hair? The girl with the plastic, see through coat beneath which she wears nothing but a swastika? Where is the metal head banging his brain out to ear bleeding music? Where are those horrid, hairy hippies? Where are the Mods, the Teds and the Grungers? Whatever happened to the young generation?
:)
Ah, Russell. They belong in your poem. So I should get writing it at once.
I saw plenty of hairy hippies and mods in Brighton recently - that's obviously where they all gravitate to these days! Nice poem too BTW!
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