Feet On Seat

I have moved once more, and it has gone pretty smoothly (once more thanks to family and friends). In the process I have rediscovered a lot of old possessions, including some old poetry I penned a long time ago (like in my uni days). It was very much a phase as I far prefer prose to poetry (with the exception of song). Still sometimes poetry can encapsulate things in a way that prose cannot. Looking over it is a sobering and sometimes embarrassing experience.

A lot has changed in my life and some of it now seems childish. At the time it was the heartfelt expressions of a person experiencing emotions – many of them new ones – and seeking to make sense of life. Those are private and shall stay so. The only kind of poetry that I would consider making public just now is the comedic or nonsensical stuff.

One such funny bit of verse was written as a description of an incident in my life just over a decade ago. It was something that had an impact on my conduct for a long time, but it seems the lesson has faded in my memory because I experienced a very similar incident only this week. Here is that original bit of writing which tells you pretty much all you need to know.

I was sitting in a carriage
Of the Dandy transport line
Minding my own business
And feeling kinda fine
Looking out the window
With my feet upon the seat
When along comes this fine fellow
With a brisk “g’day mate”

He looked so ordinary
Just a man from off the street
But he was in the business
Of bringing me my fate
He checked my card and ticket
For the proper price and date
But I’d been sprung a’loafing
Well ain’t that just great

So now I've got a fine to pay
By the time it’s due
My money it will go
To the transport revenue
And the next time a seat gets slashed
They’ll have the cash to fix it
And the next time that I ride a train
My feet’ll stay beneath it

Coz anyone aboard the train
That crafty cop could be
It could be him or her or you
Or maybe even me!