Keeping My Thoughts To Myself

I’ve got a poem on my brain but nothing with which to write it with as I pass Tottenham Hotspur’s football ground. A police horse polices the pavement all straw & shit strange in this suburban setting. It’s hooves clattering sounding exactly like two coconut shells clapped together to suggest THE LONE RANGER on some old 50’s/60’s radio show. The horse snorts: “Hey...poet...over here! ” “Yeah...whatsamatter ya never saw a talking horse before? ” “Of course...of course...and you call yourself a poet? ” “Couldn’t you just make me up for your poetic purposes? ” “Alright...alright...I’m here now anyway so go on with your poem! ” “I’ll remember it for you! ” “Now how does the first line (come on... come on...do I have to read your mind!) ...go again? ” “Something something or other about her beauty that hot summer night as the front clasp of her intricately laced bra is released & the beauty of her breasts rest on your open palms like the gift they are revealed to all the world sunlight & leaves playing about her nipples Her laughter a flock of birds written across the loveliness of this eternal evening etc., etc., etc. and so on and so on and so forth and so forth.” The horse falters shies away at the suggestiveness of the coming Verse but the lines are taken up by the crowd (excited now) “Who are ya...who are ya! ” surging forward & taking up the chant: “Sunlight & leaves play about her nipples” “Her nipples! ” “Her... nipples! ” I escape around the corner catch a bus going the wrong way try to gather my scattered thoughts as first the bus driver and then all the passengers on both the lower and upper decks take up the sunlight & leaves concept & discuss whether it is fitting or not & does credit to your beauty as I get off at the next stop and walk home trying to keep my thoughts to my self.