“Are you an Inspector, well are ya, you stink you do,

you nosy parking f**k”,

the woman of the Churchfield

gave out as verbal abuse and then in a flash of

inspiration added, “I bet you have a bus pass don’t ya.”

Her boyfriend joined in feeling brave at being able to use the word stink

without referring to his own life as it crumbled down around

his ankles, complicit in her actions as I was in my own.

 

You could hear her up the metal stairs, warmed by the sun on an April day,

the horses racing at Aintree, yet the biggest nag

and her two valiant stablemates far off course

and with too many jumps made between them, bought me down to their

level with one easy, well practised stare that they

had perfected arguably rather too well

before setting their sights on me.

 

Daring, fearless and heroic, all the things I am not,

the stink started up again,  I wish I had the quickness

of mouth to have heeded the words of Iron Maiden and retort back

with winning smile that if I smelt, at least I smelt cleaner

than the shit they were in.

“Better watch yourself coming through Church Field again you stink.”

Tired, beaten, alone with nobody on the bus willing to look my way,

no support once more,

I did the only thing I could and lowered

myself with shame gripping my heart, and perhaps with far and fair

refinement in my voice, “Oh please do Fuck off.”

 

Abuse on the bus is often free, it is included in the price

and I would have let it go right from the start

but aside from those who with blatant arrogance

sit down on the bus with no ticket and then who get pissed

because someone has decided enough is enough,

the fact that she barged past a whole line

of people who had waited patiently bored to board

was the reason for my manners being tested,

well was it worth the abuse that traded back and forth

over two miles and one square yard?

“Are you an Inspector stinky?”

No I thought, but my Granddad was and he would have had

a field day with you.

 

Ian D. Hall 2015