ColinClout(c)
09-07-2006, 08:59 AM
A sily idea that occurred to me half-seriously a few years ago....
One Track Mind
Each morning I travel to work on the train,
Each evening I use it to get home again.
Ten journeys a week, different times, different seats,
And, oh! all the various people one meets!
But it puzzles me greatly just why it should be
That the person who’s forced to sit down next to me
As the carriages fill and we’re jammed in together
Is never a gorgeous young woman in leather.
There are bickering couples who love a good row
And who saved up the niggles of ten years for now
Since a train of commuters, of course, is the place
To have a good marital fight, face to face.
And sporty bores, bouncing with vim and with vigour
Who tell me at length how to improve my figure
They once weighed a ton, now they’re light as a feather –
But none of them female, attractive, in leather.
There are people who turn up their wretched iPod
And then sing at the top of their voice as they nod
And dance like they’re trying to summon the dead,
Or mumble as if they’re not right in the head.
There are others who clearly live all on their own
And miss having someone to whom they can moan
And chatter and ramble and rabbit and blether
But never a gorgeous young woman in leather.
I’ve had holiday makers, just back from abroad,
Who are keen to display all the photos they’ve stored
On their digital cameras (“And here’s Petronella,
Our eldest, engaged to such a nice fella.
And here’s little Tarquin, so talented, bless him.
We’re worried his teachers are trying to repress him.
Oh the beach was divine! And such marvellous weather!”)
But none of them female, attractive, in leather.
And right in the midst of the rush-hour bustle
I get Gents with a broadsheet, determined to rustle
The pages with arms at their furtherest span
To check the Test score, England v. Pakistan.
Or the lads who are boasting, so everyone near
(If they want to or not) must perforce overhear
How they ‘did it’ with Tracy, then copped off with Heather -
But never a gorgeous young woman in leather.
Then again, there’s the expert, the Man In The Know
Who explains what he’d do if he ran the show.
He’d tax less and spend more, make trains run on time
Eradicate poverty, famine and crime,
End sickness and death, athlete’s foot, gout, and war
And give all the folk who don’t like it what for.
And I dare say he could (though I’m not certain whether)
But he still isn’t female, attractive, in leather.
Is it too much to ask after these folk inferior
That one fellow-passenger meet my criteria?
Tell me what are the odds, how much more must I wait?
She’s got to come some time, I’m in such a state!
If you find yourself sitting by me on the train,
I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve borne with the strain
For so long that I’m reaching the end of my tether:
Please, please, be a gorgeous young woman in leather!
One Track Mind
Each morning I travel to work on the train,
Each evening I use it to get home again.
Ten journeys a week, different times, different seats,
And, oh! all the various people one meets!
But it puzzles me greatly just why it should be
That the person who’s forced to sit down next to me
As the carriages fill and we’re jammed in together
Is never a gorgeous young woman in leather.
There are bickering couples who love a good row
And who saved up the niggles of ten years for now
Since a train of commuters, of course, is the place
To have a good marital fight, face to face.
And sporty bores, bouncing with vim and with vigour
Who tell me at length how to improve my figure
They once weighed a ton, now they’re light as a feather –
But none of them female, attractive, in leather.
There are people who turn up their wretched iPod
And then sing at the top of their voice as they nod
And dance like they’re trying to summon the dead,
Or mumble as if they’re not right in the head.
There are others who clearly live all on their own
And miss having someone to whom they can moan
And chatter and ramble and rabbit and blether
But never a gorgeous young woman in leather.
I’ve had holiday makers, just back from abroad,
Who are keen to display all the photos they’ve stored
On their digital cameras (“And here’s Petronella,
Our eldest, engaged to such a nice fella.
And here’s little Tarquin, so talented, bless him.
We’re worried his teachers are trying to repress him.
Oh the beach was divine! And such marvellous weather!”)
But none of them female, attractive, in leather.
And right in the midst of the rush-hour bustle
I get Gents with a broadsheet, determined to rustle
The pages with arms at their furtherest span
To check the Test score, England v. Pakistan.
Or the lads who are boasting, so everyone near
(If they want to or not) must perforce overhear
How they ‘did it’ with Tracy, then copped off with Heather -
But never a gorgeous young woman in leather.
Then again, there’s the expert, the Man In The Know
Who explains what he’d do if he ran the show.
He’d tax less and spend more, make trains run on time
Eradicate poverty, famine and crime,
End sickness and death, athlete’s foot, gout, and war
And give all the folk who don’t like it what for.
And I dare say he could (though I’m not certain whether)
But he still isn’t female, attractive, in leather.
Is it too much to ask after these folk inferior
That one fellow-passenger meet my criteria?
Tell me what are the odds, how much more must I wait?
She’s got to come some time, I’m in such a state!
If you find yourself sitting by me on the train,
I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve borne with the strain
For so long that I’m reaching the end of my tether:
Please, please, be a gorgeous young woman in leather!