A free man walks.
Looking around
in wonder
He may not
know where he’s going,
But he knows
where he’s been.
The iron
door was broken,
So, now he’s
on the street.
Looking like
he cannot yet believe,
That walls
no longer confine him.
His arms are
outstretched,
His hands
palm upwards
As if to receive
every possible blessing
From sun and
sky
Long may these
last
And from now
on
Always light
his path.
Intending to get back home
As I roam in
my sleep,
I make my
way to a familiar railway station
Where, to my
consternation,
I recognise the platforms, the stairs, the
trains,
But not the names
of the destinations
So, I scan indicators
And read the
route maps,
Looking for
the reason for this mishap.
I try to see
where I went wrong.
To find the
route I wanted all along.
Perplexed I decide
to go by bus instead.
Out in the London
street
The busses are
double decked and red
The streets at
first seem the same
As those I walked
when awake
Yet they’re
somehow different
And I don’t
know which to take.
Then I think
I’ll find my way,
If I just
walk down here
Past a large
domed building
Which must
be the Albert Hall?
Or a church
or a cathedral,
But it isn’t
that at all.
Military people
stand around outside
Waiting for
a bugle call
Lost and
bewildered
I wake from
this bad dream.
To my own known reality
Where the howling
gale outside my window
Seems reassuring
to me.
Where did all the smoke go?
Was it blown
away into history,
As a passing
yellow cloud?
Once it was
everywhere,
It seeped
into everything
Infusing
clothes, skins, rooms and breaths.
People
smoked cigarettes, roll-ups,
Pipes and
cigars
At home, in
the street,
In buses,
trains and cars
So many
would all inhale and exhale
Now only a
few last hold-outs
Light up
their coffin nails.
I had a
youthful ambition for smoke,
It looked so
cool
It might
make a young fool
Into a
proper bloke.
All the
tempting images
And brands
and advertising mirages
Reinforced
my bad choice
So, I
enjoyed
Number Six
and Number Ten
Then as
nicotine inserted
Its hooks
and chains
I inhaled
and exhaled
Again and
again
Bensons,
Marlboro, Gauloises, Gitanes.
When the
craving really needed slaking
I was
capable of taking
Dog ends
from ashtrays
To disinter
smoked tobacco
Just to resmoke
it and cough.
Too late I
decided to cast smoke off
Now I am
free
I think
smugly
As I strap
on tight
The
breathing mask
That I need
to sleep every night.
Seen through the windscreen of a moving car,
This suburban
street flashes past,
Lined with similar
semi-detached,
Housing ordinary
England
Not at all
bizarre.
But walk its
pavement,
Looking out
for cracks,
Or protruding
tree roots,
That might
trip you in your tracks.
You might
see a street stranger than it seemed.
Someone, maybe
drunk or in a dream
Drove a vehicle
through a front garden wall,
Almost
crashed it into a front room.
Then did renegade
scholar or maverick teacher
Decorate a grey
metal electricity cabinet.
With a quotation from Frederich Nietzsche?
I read this with puzzlement
Then go on
as best I can,
Past piles
of soggy leaves,
As I am no
superman.
A magpie
cackles at me, so I retreat,
Through my front door
And off this
strange street.
