Saturday, 1 December 2012

Bus note 30

The girl at the stop said
you can take this one too.
        Bus filled with boys
        of Solihull School, blazered,
expletives (ours, our language) thrown out
with such class, tidied-up violence
staining seat fabric. Bad air pallor is here.
        They're doing their long divisions -
the part: delicate boy with guitar,
a whitened, unafraid and hurt face,
        from the whole: fuckload of well-heeled cattle
        everywhere loudly, the inheritors
        of more than enough and more.
Motto: Perseverantia.
They do go on and on.


  1. Not quite U enough for the Bullingdon Club but fair contenders.

  2. Exquisitely particularized, painfully accurate social analysis.

    The Brum bus lines are proving as good a laboratory for case study for the little wooden boy as were the Glasgow closes for F. Engels.

    Those Bullington hordes, one does remember them from blurred visions of invading storms of projectile-vomiting young toffs coming in through the window.

    I believe on one legendary occasion they are to have succeeded in so completely trashing the dining hall at Peckwater Quad that not a single one of the 467 windows in the joint remained intact.

    Eat your heart out, Anaal Nahkrath!

  3. Thank you both for reading through, and thanks, TC, for the links.

    I'd forgotten you must have caught sight of the breed at very close quarters yourself.

    It was a strange thing to see them on a bus and to find that the dialectic showed up so well. The young monsters were very unguarded. I don't think us others figured for them at all.

    I've seen the public catch these chartered buses before but always avoided it. Very glad this time I changed my mind.