Friday 7 October 2016

DREAMING OF NASTY TOILETS & FALLING FAECES...

Dreaming Of Toilets, Old Miserable People & Dogs…

I was at work, without doubt
But wearing a suit?
A meeting maybe?
Certainly no teaching,
For I sought a route
To the facilities, reaching 
A public convenience, in some kind of institute.

I entered a cubicle and squatted,
Still wearing my suit…
A mistake maybe?
Definitely not reflective
Of a cubicle of repute:
For it was defective,
An inconvenience indeed and squalid to boot…

Faeces hung and dripped
Down the locked door
And uncontrollably slipped
From ceiling to floor;
Shit fell onto my back,
It nudged against my hair:
My exit was thus not slack
From the stink to gasp air.
The jacket shrugged off,
My shirt now felt damp,
Before a vomiting cough
Forced my belly to cramp;
Three youngish women I then located,
Pushing an older accompanying hag
Into the cubicle I’d just vacated,
Clinging to her crumpled carrier bag.
The stools were like cobwebs I believe,
I saw as I bent double moaning;
A hasty escape was needed, the nausea to relieve, 
So I made for the door, still groaning…

I stepped off a bus in Hurst Lane, 
Shrinking inside my suit:
An abomination maybe?
Certainly not acceptable
As I walked a route,
With the aroma intolerable.
Then I noticed some kind of dispute…

I walked in considerable haste,
Pausing, resenting my suit:
A throw-out now, maybe?
Definitely I felt irate, 
Then a wrinkly, a brute
Kicked a box, or a crate
In anger, with a surgical boot…

“Stop it, you old git…” I bellowed:
She glared right back at my face;
Two yobbish women soon followed
And their wild dogs also took chase.
I swung round at them: a folly,
I yelled, growled and kicked out;
I struck out at them with my brolly,
Rendering each one a clout
I tried desperately to explain
That the crate might have struck
A child to cause injury and pain,
Or damage a car, with a little bad luck…
I told them I lived along the way,
I wasn’t a stranger here,
In Nearmoor Road, not far away
And they relented, their acceptance clear…

I awoke then but I could still smell the faeces,
I could feel the clinging slime pieces
And the bloodthirsty lust to get at the mutts
And deliver decisive blows to their butts…

Pete Ray
October 2016

I did dream all this. Not a pleasant one.
Hurst Lane is in Castle Bromwich. There was a car park along the road, which led down to my mum and dad’s house in Nearmoor Road, Shard End.
Woke up shit scared…



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