In The Queue Poem by jim hogg

no, parties never were my scene
but, truth to tell, I wish they were
for this feels like an SOS
I never issued when I should
because I couldn't integrate
escape velocities of states
like romance, relevance and chance
with wind-chill stats for niceties
or self inflicted punishments
and don't know which of those I am
though no-one else is up in arms

we all became cartoons, it seems
diverted by a cartooned world

and while the world was scrolling past
who did our culture cut and paste
who leapt right in and bounced back out
who ploughed the stars and smoked the clouds
and sought the key of everything
as silent as an opened vein
with not one witness we can trust
on any side of Mantel's sieve

I can't be sure it wasn't me
imagining heroic stunts
imagined lovers rushed to see
through windows of a passing bus
when I was twelve and on my bike
my face well tanned and sleeves rolled up
prepared for adulating eyes

now my event horizon sweeps
for humble sparks to idolise
the tender gaze of loving eyes
and kind of love that still holds hands
deep into winter's withering
on city streets, or tv screens