On this train station lies
Two platforms of tarmac and sighs
That sound the world and meet the sky;
And o’er the two the bridge runs by
To either one (that’s your lot);
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the trains below
Grind and steam there below,
The station of that’s your lot.
Faces whiten, people quiver,
Chill breezes freeze and shiver
Thro’ the wait that runs forever
On the station, all aquiver,
Going down to minus – a – lot.
One blue door, and four grey pillars,
Overlook a place of pillocks,
And the silent bridge a-rocks
From the Lady in culottes.
On that morning, we were headed –
Without using premium unleaded –
To Peterboro’, and we disexpected
The woman flitting silken-sailed –
A Lady in strange culottes.
Who has seen her walk or stand?
Or at the station seen her brand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady in odd culottes?
Only joggers, freaking early
Or a lonely bearded girlie
Could like a thing that flaps so queerly
From their legs and winding clearly,
Like the bizarre culottes:
And by the moon, the wearer weary,
Sees walking sleeves in uplands dreary,
Dreads, and runs from the flapping, lairy
(A parody based on The Lady of Shalott by Alfred Lord Tennyson, completely wrecked by yours truly. No offence to joggers, bearded ladies, or people with strange taste in clothing is intended.)
Apologies for the long absence! I have been writing a novel, and am now in the process of typing it up. So far I am halfway through chapter 5. I hope you all had a fantastic Christmas (and Thanksgiving if you are American) and I wish you all an amazing and fortunate New Year.