Richard George

Rookie (June 1,1965 / Cheltenham, U.K.)

The Old Northern Line - Poem by Richard George

Strangers don't talk on the Tube.
It breaks unwritten laws
of a city millions craven.
Adverts, and our wan
reflections. Are we coring
cholera dead? Down here, in this
warm, sick dark, do plagues
incubate, an AIDS
that can kill virgins who breathe it
in a hot September night's
Calcutta crush? I must get out.
Forty years layered
in the station, and footsteps gone.

Footsteps gone.

A dart, on cinder track.
It is dragging a MacDonalds burger
carton, five times its size,
to the under-platform dungeon
where it will breed. All it knows.

I kneel. 'O Muse'.

Listen to this poem:

Comments about The Old Northern Line by Richard George

There is no comment submitted by members..

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Read poems about / on: september, sick, city, dark, night

Poem Submitted: Friday, May 20, 2005

[Report Error]