BREAKING MAN

  on a bus with a number
 in a town with a name
    on a street called something like
  sycamore avenue
   chestnut close
      or
  butchers bridge

    sits a man with an age 
 shaking with breakdown
       hunched on the high seats 
      up near the back

 and a girl who is a daughter 
     holds his arm with a kind of pride
  smiles a youth-confident smile
      maybe 
    just pleased 
       hes out

  in clothes called polyester-chic 
i slouch behind them 
     my knees are shiny
  going to a place called work
     listening to rock from the past
 on a tapeplayer with auto reverse 
   and headphones with megabass

    its a year with a number 
   that starts 19

 there is booze in my morning sweat
    there is fag ash in my suede coat
  i wear black nike airs called pegasus
   
  one punctured hisses like a snake 
  
    and i wonder
   that 
    we
   dont
 all shake like that

  in fear and panic and impotence
   in a gut-balls reaction called instinct

   at the world
  that has become

from andysbusblog.blogspot.co.uk