Happy Birthday David

Cherry

By Parson Thru

Sat, 10 Jan 2015
  • 2615 reads
15 comments
 

I make the 11:06 from Temple Meads.

It fills with detritus - the rambling drunks of Bristol.

Tired of their sadness, I force the soft rubber of earphones home.

More real than this shit.

And I'm filled with the thought that Stokes Croft is nothing more than a derelict shit-hole, ideas above its station.

Squalid.

Its ersatz graffiti bars heavy with tourist student sweat.

I stopped for a piss on a broken island with nothing to warrant surveillance. Only shadows among the wrecks.

It felt good. Pissing the week into the gutter.

A nice young man swinging a bottle of Sauvignon asked me for Old Market Street.

I only knew Old Market, filled with knocking shops and wandering alcoholics.

He wasn't ready for that.

The train is failing at Bedminster.

Wind and rain swept through the street-lights battering my umbrella into submission, affording me moments of watery-eyed contact with mysterious women.

The air was good.

I made the station.

Platforms shone broad and empty.

A policeman in a stab-vest looked at me and I at him.

"Alright?"

"Alright mate?"

No malice. I offered a little prayer for his night.

Now there's a problem with the train.

It's ok. Time to reflect.

The conductor dashes through and we're off again into the night.

A message from Cordoba, Argentina.

Another prayer, please God.

Someone has their knees in the back of my seat, but I've got Bowie.

It's his birthday.

68

Year of Apollo 8, but that's another life.

Maybe later this year I'll miss these nights.

Just maybe.

Certificate PG
Non-fiction
Parson Thruses Dairy
Miscellaneous

Comments

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Cookies crumble that way, sometimes, PT.  There's comfort in numbers, oft times...and, as to your rhetoric, yes, maybe you will; maybe we all will.

 

 

 

 

Submitted by Parson Thru on

Hi Tina. Not such a disagreeable crumbling of the cookie, if I'm honest. This year should bring some changes though. Best wishes to you. X

Parson Thru

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Fingers crossed, PT.  Fingers crossed.

Tina

 

Submitted by Parson Thru on

Crossed.

Parson Thru

Submitted by Geoff Smith on

Nice series of disconnected images - the isolation of the commute.

Thanks for reading. I am grateful for your time.

Submitted by Philip Sidney on

At least you have Bowie, sitting in your tin can.  

Submitted by Parson Thru on

Far from the moon.

Parson Thru

Submitted by Parson Thru on

Thank you eds. Very grateful.

Parson Thru

Submitted by catherine poarch on

Ah, Stokes Croft. Filled with posh hippies on their gap decade in Bristol, jumping on all the alternative band wagons, full of power and loud voices. Then they have a baby, eat their own placenta and move out to the country (because the schools are 'better') and turn into their parents. Now I've got that off my chest, I loved the poem! I loved the 'he wasn't ready for that'. All of it really.

 

Submitted by Parson Thru on

Hi Catherine. Very eloquent. There's something about the place but, like many others, it seems a victim of its own image. Bristol itself is a hotbed of creativity and I've greatly benefited from that. Some wonderful people doing wonderful things. I remember going back to Headingley in Leeds and finding a big commercial Lego model of the place I'd once lived in. Just how it is I suppose. Stokes Croft just seemed more Squalid than usual last night. I think there's a butcher in Bishopston who'll sell you a tray of placenta. I'm always amazed that Bishopston can support two butchers. Thanks for your kind words.

Parson Thru

Submitted by catherine poarch on

Bristol's diverse, almost from street to street. But however many people pass through Stokes Croft, still that beautiful old carriage shop stays criminally empty. I shall keep a beady eye on those Bishopston butchers. Kangaroo obviously wasn't enough for them.

 

Submitted by Bee on

This is brilliant, PT. Like Catherine, I liked the 'He wasn't ready for that',  too, but I loved best the -

'Pissing the week into the gutter.' - almost no pleasure in the world like the relief of a waz when you need it the most. And may the cares of the day (slash) week go with it!

 

Bee

Submitted by Parson Thru on

You make me smile as ever Bee.Thank you. A waz a day keeps the woes at bay. Especially one in the gutter. As demonstrated by the nutter undersigned.

Parson Thru

Submitted by forest_for_ever on

I left the hussle-bustle of London a long time ago.  Late night tube and bus journeys and the mess of a city staggering on in blind confusion.  I loved this piece and what it did for me. Thanks.

 

Submitted by Parson Thru on

Hi Forest. Best kind of comment. Thank you.

Parson Thru