THE POET'S CURSE

The road is ripe with traffic
She crosses at the lights,
There's a smudge in her mascara
A hole torn in her tights.
I wonder at her story
It is the poet's curse,
Imagined snippets of folks' lives
Come to me in verse.

A café in the high street
By caffeine's call I'm led,
That couple in the corner
Are they cheating, are they wed?
The gorgeous girl behind me
Sits with an older man,
"Dad" or "sugar daddy"?
Is she Suzy, is he Stan?

Back amidst the shoppers
Two lads sharing jokes,
Are they secret lovers
Or "Nuts" like blokey blokes?
A traffic warden's lurking
Pen poised for the kill,
What story will I give them
How will I work my will?

I pass an empty building
Its secrets I could tell,
I conjure ghostly goings on
Behind its crumbling shell.
A blanket in a doorway
Was this some pauper's bed?
Shall winter and its vagaries
Leave this vagrant dead?

The crossing gates are lowered
A packed train rushes by,
Thoughts of destinations
Whirl in my mind's eye.
A siren in the distance
Alerts my writer's mind,
Mayhap they'll be responding
To some gruesome find.

Places, objects, people
They're manna for my brain,
I have to write their stories
It is the poet's bane.
My feet have led me homeward
I'm back behind my door,
I hope I never lose this curse
But keep it evermore.

COPYRIGHT D M PAMMENT 27th JANUARY 2010