Oh God, how are you still talking?
I can feel myself nodding,
head bouncing like a metronome,
Yes. No. Maybe.
Of course I’m listening, Babe.
Except I’m not - obviously.
I’m  watching that girl walk by, all lithe limbs,
languidly lounging past the window.
I wonder where she’s going,
I wonder where you’re going -  
with this tiresome tirade.
Your eyes rolling, like the reels on the fruit machine,
No delay on your train of thought.
Hard to keep track, can’t read the signals,
eyes filled with smoke,
trapped by your tedious tannoy,
covering old ground,
chugging relentlessly,
chanting incessantly,
crowing endlessly,  
My job? It’s fine.
My health? It’s fine!
Finances? Enough to get a pint in!
Can I risk a diversion?
Why are you broadcasting this nonsense?
When will it stop?
Pregnant.
Pause.
Wait. What?

This train home is twice delayed,
it's ******* up the plans I've made
and in the pub I wish I'd stayed.
It's still not here yet.  

I have no doubt when it comes soon,
I'll have to endure a banging tune -
from the Ipod of some drunken buffoon,
It's still not here yet.

I sometimes wish that I'd take wing -
Like Icarus or a feathered thing,
That builds its nest from twigs and string.
It's still not here yet.

I suppose in time we'll own a car
and avoid all those bizarre -
excuses from the conductor.
It's still not here yet.

In time we'll take drives to the beach
and let a wild dog off the leash,
while the sea wind steals our speech.
It's still not here yet.

We'll have a garden for barbeques,
with potted plants and stunning views
and comfy chairs in which to snooze,
but we're not there yet.

Well of course, Your Honour, I can explain,
why I urinated on the train.
You see the first toilet appeared to be locked,
and the other one of course was blocked.
Is it wrong? You could dispute,
Do you expect ‘Moi’ to ruin an Armani suit?
Clearly men of our position,
can appreciate my pleas of contrition?
What’s that you say?  Inebriated?
A glass or two, it should be stated -
for the record, which should also note,
the tear in the sleeve of my cashmere coat,
caused by the vandals that restrained,
as I was wrongly cuffed and detained.
As a chap of substance before the court,
perhaps my innocence could be bought?
No, no, not a bribe of course,
more a donation of remorse.
It’s not as if the jury gives a ****,
they obviously don’t realise who I am.
It is clearly just the wrong decision,
to send a man of breeding to a prison.
A witness says that I was ******?
And that I tried to stand up but missed?
What slanderous lies of lesser classes,
perhaps I’d had three or four healthy glasses.
And reports of singing and standing on my seat,
are fabricated, nonsense and incomplete.
Cameras saw me strike the face -
of a man, with my leather briefcase?
Perhaps at this stage I should refrain,
and allow you to address this stain -
on my character which I’m sure you agree,
is beneath the contempt of someone like me.
Surely you can’t have confirmed my guilt?
What about the reputation I’ve built?
Before they take me, please pray tell,
will there be a servant in my cell?

Strolling, the clouds
Are rolling, they abound
And surely they've found
A purely new sound

But towns have found that clouds come down
In rain, to panes
Their windows are loud

With respect, they see
That without them, they'd be
Lost in the toss
Of a barren dirt sea